E 

90 

G62G6 


GOODBIRD 


GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GOODBIRD 
THE  INDIAN 


GILBERT    L.    WILSON 


SHELDON  JACKSON 

The  Life  of  Sheldon  Jackson,  Pathfinder  and 
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Rocky  Mountains;'  By  Robert  Laird  Stewart, 
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A  Study  of  the  Thlingets  of  Alaska.      12010, 
cloth.     Illustrated,  net  $1,50. 

For  twenty-one  years  the  author  has  labored  as  a 
missionary  representing  the  Presbyterian  Board  of 
Home  Missions  among  the  people  about  which  he 
writes.  Probably  no  living  man  is  better  qualified  to 
tell  about  this  interesting  race. 


GOODBIRD  THE   INDIAN 


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Comrades  from  Other  Lands 

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' 


EDWARD  GOODBIRD 


Issued  under  the  direction  of  the  Council  of 
Women  for  Home  Missions 


GOODBIRD   THE    INDIAN 

His  Story 


TOLD  BY  HIMSELF 

TO 

GILBERT    L.  WILSON 

Author  of  "  Myths  of  the  Red  Children,"  "  Indian  Hero  Tales' 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  FREDERICK  N.   WILSON 


NEW  YORK          CHICAGO          TORONTO 

Fleming     H.     Revell     Company 

LONDON    AND    EDINBURGH 


Copyright,   1914,  by 
FLEMING   H.    REVELL   COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  125  North  Wabash  Ave. 
Toronto:  25  Richmond  Street,  W. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:  100  Princes  Street 


Contents 

GLOSSARY  OF  INDIAN  WORDS         .        .  6 

I    BIRTH 9 

II    CHILDHOOD 19 

III  THE  GODS 27 

IV  INDIAN  BELIEFS 36 

V    SCHOOL  DAYS 43 

VI    HUNTING  BUFFALOES    .        .        .        .53 

VII    FARMING 61 

VIII    THE  WHITE  MAN'S  WAY     .        .        .1 


1965186 


Glossary  of  Indian  Words 

a,    ha    h£ 

ai    (I) 

/ 
a    pa    tip 

E    di    &    ka    ta 

ffl    d&t    sa 

Ho    Wash    t6 

It    si     di    shi    cli    I    ta    ka 

It    si    ka    ma    hi    di 

Ka    du    te    ta 

kG;    kats 

Ma    hi    di    wi    a 

Man    dan 

mi    h&    dits 

MI    nl    ta     ri 

na 

San    tee 

Sioux  (Soo).     (The  plural,  spelled  also  Sioux,   is   commonly 
pronounced  Soos.) 

te    pee 

Tsa    kd    ka    sa    kl 

Tsd    wa 

u    a    ki    h8    kS 


FOREWARD 


CATLIN  in  1832,  and  Maximilian  in  1833,  have 
made  famous  the  culture  of  the  Mandan  and 
Minitari,  or  Hidatsa,  tribes. 

In  1907,  I  was  sent  out  by  the  American  Museum  of 
Natural  History,  to  begin  anthropological  studies 
among  the  remnants  of  these  peoples,  on  Fort  Berthold 
Reservation;  and  I  have  been  among  them  each  sum- 
mer, ever  since. 

During  these  years,  Goodbird  has  been  my  faithful 
helper  and  interpreter.  His  mother,  Mahidiwia,  or 
Buffalo  Bird  Woman,  is  a  marvelous  source  of  informa- 
tion on  old-time  life  and  beliefs. 

Indians  have  a  gentle  custom  of  adopting  very  dear 
friends  by  relationship  terms;  by  such  adoption,  Good- 
bird  is  my  brother;  Mahidiwia  is  my  mother. 

The  stories  which  make  this  little  book  were  told 
my  by  Goodbird  in  August,  1913. 

I  have  but  put  Goodbird's  Indian- English  into  com- 
mon idiom.  The  stories  are  his  own;  in  them  he  has 
bared  his  heart. 

In  1908,  and  again  in  1913,  my  brother,  Frederick 
N.  Wilson,  was  also  sent  by  the  Museum  to  make 
drawings  of  Hidatsa  arts.  Illustrations  in  this  book 
are  from  studies  made  by  him  in  those  years;  a  few 
are  redrawn  from  simpler  sketches  by  Goodbird  himself. 

7 


8  FOREWORD 

Acknowledgment  is  made  of  the  courtesy  of  the 
Museum's  curator,  Dr.  Clark  Wissler,  whose  permission 
makes  possible  the  publishing  of  this  book. 

May  Goodbird's  Story  give  the  reader  a  kindly  interest 
in  his  people. 

Minneapolis.  G.  L.  W» 


An  Old  Hidatsa  Village. 

I 
BIRTH 

I   WAS  born  on  a  sand  bar,  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Yellowstone,    seven   years   before    the   battle   in 
which    Long  Hair  *  was    killed.     My  tribe    had 
camped  on  the  bar  and  were  crossing  the  river  in  bull 
boats.     As  ice  chunks  were  running  on  the  Missouri 
current,  it  was  probably  the  second  week  in  November. 
The  Mandans   and  my  own  people,   the  Hidatsas, 
were  once  powerful  tribes  who  dwelt  in  five  villages 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Knife  River,  in  what  is  now  North 
Dakota.     Smallpox  weakened  both  peoples;   the   sur- 
vivors moved  up  the  Missouri  and  built  a  village  at 
*  General  George  A.  Custer. 


io  GOODBIRD   THE  INDIAN 

Like-a-fish-hook  Bend,  or  Fort  Berthold  as  the  whites 
called  it,  where  they  dwelt  together  as  one  tribe.  They 
fortified  their  village  with  a  fence  of  upright  logs 
against  their  enemies,  the  Sioux. 

We  Hidatsas  looked  upon  the  Sioux  as  wild  men, 
because  they  lived  by  hunting  and  dwelt  in  tents.  Our 
own  life  we  thought  civilized.  Our  lodges  were  houses 
of  logs,  with  rounded  roofs  covered  with  earth;  hence 
their  name,  earth  lodges.  Fields  of  corn,  beans, 
squashes  and  sunflowers  lay  on  either  side  of  the  village, 
in  the  bottom  lands  along  the  river;  these  were  cultivated 
in  old  times  with  bone  hoes. 

With  our  crops  of  corn  and  beans,  we  had  less  fear 
of  famine  than  the  wilder  tribes;  but  like  them  we 

hunted  buffaloes  for  our 
meat.  After  firearms 
became  common,  big 
game  grew  less  plentiful, 
and  for  several  years 

cone  Hoe.  .        J 

before    my    birth,    few 

buffaloes  had  been  seen  near  our  village.  However, 
scouts  brought  in  word  that  big  herds  were  to  be 
found  farther  up  the  river  and  on  the  Yellowstone, 
and  our  villagers,  Mandans  and  Hidatsas,  made  ready 
for  a  hunt. 

A  chief,  or  leader,  was  always  chosen  for  a  tribal 
hunt,  some  one  who  was  thought  to  have  power  with 
the  gods.  Not  every  one  was  willing  to  be  leader. 
The  tribe  expected  of  him  a  prosperous  hunt  with  plenty 
of  meat,  and  no  attacks  from  enemies.  If  the  hunt 
proved  an  unlucky  one,  the  failure  was  laid  to  the 
leader.  "  His  prayers  have  no  power  with  the  gods. 
He  is  not  fit  to  be  leader!  "  the  people  would  say. 


BIRTH  ii 

This  leader  had  to  be  chosen  by  a  military  society 
of  men,  called  the  Black  Mouths.  They  made  up  a 
collection  of  rich  gifts — gun,  blankets,  robes,  war 
bonnet,  embroidered  shirt — and  with  much  ceremony 
offered  the  gifts,  successively,  to  men  who  were  known 
to  own  sacred  bundles;  all  refused. 

They  prevailed  at  length  upon  Ediakata  to  accept 
half  the  gifts.  "  Choose  another  to  take  the  rest,"  he 
told  the  Black  Mouths:  "  I  will  share  the  leadership 
with  him!  "  They  chose  Short  Horn. 

The  two  leaders  fixed  the  day  of  departure.  On  the 
evening  before,  a  crier  went  through  the  village,  calling 
out,  "  To-morrow  at  sunrise  we  break  camp.  Get 
ready,  everybody!  " 

The  march  was  up  the  Missouri,  on  the  narrow 
prairie  between  the  foothills  and  the  river.  Ediakata 
and  Short  Horn  led,  commanding,  the  one,  one  day, 
the  other,  the  next.  The  camp  followed  in  a  long  line, 
some  on  horseback,  more  afoot;  a  few  old  people  rode 
on  travois.  Camp  was  made  at  night  in  tepees,  or 
skin-covered  tents. 

My  grandfather's  was  a  large  thirteen-skin  tepee, 
pitched  with  fifteen  poles.  It  sheltered  twelve  persons; 
my  grandfather,  Small  Ankle,  and  his  two  wives,  Red 
Blossom  and  Strikes-many-woman;  his  sons,  Bear's 
Tail  and  Wolf  Chief,  and  their  wives;  my  mother, 
Buffalo  Bird  Woman,  daughter  of  Small  Ankle,  and 
Son-of-a-Star,  her  husband;  Flies  Low,  a  younger  son 
of  Small  Ankle;  and  Red  Kettle  and  Full  Heart,  mere 
boys,  brothers  of  Flies  Low. 

Ascending  the  west  bank  of  the  Missouri,  my  tribe 
reached  the  mouth  of  the  Yellowstone  at  their  eleventh 
camp;  here  the  Missouri  narrows,  offering  a  good  place 


12  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

to  cross.  A  long  sand  bar  skirted  the  south  shore; 
tents  were  pitched  here  about  noon.  There  was  not 
room  on  the  narrow  bar  to  pitch  a  camping  circle,  and 
the  tepees  stood  in  rows,  like  the  houses  of  a  village. 

My  grandfather  pitched  his  tent  near  the  place 
chosen  for  the  crossing.  The  day  was  cold  and  windy; 
with  flint  and  steel,  my  grandfather  kindled  a  fire. 
Dry  grass  was  laid  around  the  wall  of  the  tent  and 
covered  with  robes,  for  beds.  Small  logs,  laid  along 
the  edges  of  the  beds,  shielded  them  from  sparks 
from  the  fire. 

At  evening  the  wind  died;  twilight  crept  over  the 
sky,  and  the  stars  appeared.  The  new  moon,  narrow 
and  bent  like  an  Indian  bow,  shone  white  over  the 
river,  and  the  waves  of  the  long  mid-current  sparkled 
silvery  in  the  moonlight.  Now  and  then  with  a 
swi-i-s-sh,  a  sheet  of  water,  a  tiny  whirl-pool  in  its 
center,  would  come  washing  in  to  shore;  while  over  all 
rose  the  roar,  roar,  roar  of  the  great  river,  sweeping 
onward,  the  Indians  knew  not  where. 

At  midnight  a  dog  raised  himself  on  his  haunches, 
pointed  his  nose  at  the  sky,  and  yelped.  It  was  the 
signal  for  the  midnight  chorus;  and  in  a  moment  every 
dog  in  camp  had  joined  it,  nose-in-air,  howling  mourn- 
fully at  the  moon.  Far  out  on  the  prairie  rose  the 
wailing  yip-yip-yip-ya-a-aht  of  a  coyote.  The  dogs 
grew  silent  again  and  curled  up,  to  sleep. 

And  I  came  into  the  world. 

Wrapped  in  a  bit  of  robe,  I  was  laid  in  my  mother's 
arms,  her  first  born;  she  folded  me  to  her  breast. 

The  morning  sky  was  growing  gray  when  my  father 
came  home.  He  raised  the  tent  door  and  entered, 
smiling. 


BIRTH  13 

"  I    heard  my  little  son  cry,  as  I  came,"  he  said; 
"  It  was  a  lusty  cry!  I  am  very  happy." 
My  grandmother  placed  me  in  his  arms. 

My  tribe  began  crossing  the  river  the  same  morning. 
Tents  were  struck,  one  by  one;  and  the  owners,  having 
loaded  their  baggage  in  bull  boats,  pushed  boldly  out 
into  the  current. 

A  bull  boat  was  made  by  stretching  a  buffalo  skin 
over  a  frame  of  willows.  It  was  shaped  like  a  tub  and 
was  not  graceful;  but  it  carried  a  heavy  load. 

Our  boat  had  been  brought  up  from  the  village  on  a 
travois,  and  my  father  ferried  my  mother  and  me 
across.  He  knelt  in  the  bow,  dipping  his  oar  in  the 
water  directly  before  him;  my  mother  sat  in  the  tail 
of  the  boat  with  me  in  her  arms.  Our  tent  poles, 
tied  in  a  bundle,  floated  behind  us;  and  our  dogs  and 
horses  came  swimming  after,  sniffing  and  blowing  as 
they  breasted  the  heavy  current.  We  landed  tired, 
and  rather  wet. 

The  tribe  was  four  days  in  crossing;  and  as  the 
season  was  late,  we  at  once  took  up  our  march  to  the 
place  chosen  for  our  winter  camp.  My  mother  and  I 
now  rode  on  a  travois,  drawn  by  a  pony.  A  buffalo 
skin  was  spread  on  the  bottom  of  the  travois  basket; 
this  my  father  bound  snugly  about  my  mother's  knees 
as  she  sat,  Indian  fashion,  with  her  ankles  turned  to 
the  right.  I  lay  in  her  lap,  cuddled  hi  a  wild-cat  skin 
and  covered  by  her  robe. 

We  reached  Round  Bank,  the  place  of  our  winter 
camp,  in  five  days.  My  tribe's  usual  custom  was  to 
winter  in  small  earth  lodges,  in  the  woods  by  the  Mis- 
souri, a  few  miles  from  Like-a-fish-hook  village;  but 


14  GOODBIRD   THE   INDIAN 

this  winter  we  were  to  camp  in  our  skin  tents,  like 
the  Sioux.  A  tent,  well  sheltered,  with  a  brisk  fire 
under  the  smoke  hole,  was  comfortable  and  warm. 

No  buffaloes  had  been  killed  on  the  way  up  to  the 
Yellowstone;  but  much  deer,  elk,  and  antelope  meat 
had  been  brought  into  camp,  dried,  and  packed  in  bags 
for  winter,  Many,  also,  of  the  more  provident  families 
had  stores  of  corn,  brought  with  them  from  Like-a-fish- 
hook  village.  After  snow  fell,  our  hunters  discovered 
buffaloes  and  made  a  kill.  We  thus  faced  winter  with- 
out fear  of  famine. 

The  tenth  day  after  my  birth  was  my  naming  day; 
it  came  just  as  we  were  getting  settled  in  our  winter 
camp.  An  Indian  child  was  named  to  bring  him  good 
luck.  A  medicine  man  was  called  in,  feasted,  and  given 
a  present  to  name  the  child  and  pray  for  him.  As  my 
grandfather  was  one  of  the  chief  medicine  men  of  the 
tribe,  my  mother  asked  him  to  name  me. 

My  grandfather's  gods  were  the  birds  that  send  the 
thunder.  He  was  a  kind  old  man,  and  took  me  gently 
into  his  arms  and  said,  "  I  name  my  grandson  Tsa- 
ka-ka-sa-ki, — Good-bird!"  My  name  thus  became  a 
kind  of  prayer;  whenever  it  was  spoken  it  reminded 
the  bird  spirits  that  I  was  named  for  them,  and  that 
my  grandfather  prayed  that  I  might  grow  up  a  brave 
and  good  man. 

The  winter  passed  without  mishap  to  any  one  in  our 
tent.  An  old  man  named  Holding  Eagle  had  his  leg 
broken  digging  hi  a  bank  for  white  clay;  he  was  prying 
out  a  lump  with  a  stick,  when  the  bank  caved  in  upon 
him.  Toward  spring,  Wolf-with-his-back-to-the-wind 
and  his  brother  were  surprised  by  Sioux  and  killed.  A 
man  named  Drum  was  also  killed  and  scalped. 


BIRTH 


Spring  came,  but  ice  still  lay  on  the  Missouri  when 
the  Goose  society  gave  their  spring  dance.  The  flocks 
of  geese  that  came  flying  north  at  this  season  of  the 
year  were  a  sign  that  it  was  time  to  make  ready  our 
fields  for  planting  corn.  The  Goose  society  was  a  society 
of  women,  and  their  dance  was  a  prayer  that  the  spirits 
of  the  geese  would  send  good  weather  for  the  corn-plant- 
ing. Most  of  the  work  of  planting  and  hoeing  our  corn 
fell  to  the  women. 

Our  winter  camp  now  broke  up,  most  of  the  tribe 
returning  to  the  Yellowstone;  but  my  grandfather  and 
One  Buffalo,  with  their  families,  went  up  the  Missouri 
to  hunt  for  buffaloes.  They  found  a  small  herd,  gave 
chase,  and  killed  ten. 

Four  more  tepees  now  joined  us,  those  of  Strikes 
Back-bone,  Old  Bear,  Long 
Wing,  Spotted  Horn,  and 
their  families.  To  each 
tent  owner,  my  grand- 
father gave  the  half  of  a 
freshly  killed  buffalo  and 
one  whole  green  buffalo 
skin.  Camp  was  pitched; 
the  meat  was  hung  on 
stages  to  dry,  and  the 
women  busied  themselves 
making  the  skins  into  bull 
boats. 

When    the    ice    on    the        At  Work  with  a  Bone  Hoe. 
Missouri  broke,  our  camp 

made  ready  to  return  to  the  village,  for  the  women 
wanted  to  be  about  their  spring  planting.  Bull  boats 
were  now  taken  to  the  river  and  loaded;  and  the 


AfevT 


16  GOODBIRD   THE   INDIAN 

families,  six  or  seven  tepees  in  all,  pushed  out  into  the 
current. 

My  parents  led,  with  three  boats  lashed  together, 
in  the  first  of  which  they  sat  and  paddled;  my  fath- 
er's rifle  lay  by  him.  The  second  boat  was  partly 
loaded  with  bags  of  dried  meat,  and  upon  these  sat 
Flies  Low,  my  uncle,  with  me  hi  his  arms.  The  third 
boat  was  loaded  to  the  water  with  meat  and  skins. 

The  Missouri's  course  is  winding;  if  a  turn  in  it  sends 
the  current  against  the  wind,  the  waves  rise  heavy  and 
choppy,  so  that  a  single  boat  can  hardly  ride  them. 
When  approaching  one  of  these  turns,  our  party  would 
draw  together,  laying  tight  hold  of  one  another's  boats 
until  the  danger  was  passed;  bunched  together  in  this 
manner,  the  boats  ran  less  risk  of  upsetting. 

Snow  had  disappeared  from  the  ground,  and  the  grass 
was  beginning  to  show  green  when  we  left  the  Yellow- 
stone. We  floated  down  the  great  river  in  high  spirits. 
All  went  well  until  we  neared  the  mouth  of  the  Little 
Missouri,  thirty  miles  from  the  village.  Then  a  storm 
arose,  and  as  we  rounded  a  bend,  the  current  carried 
us  into  the  very  teeth  of  the  wind.  Our  flimsy  boats, 
sea-sawing  up  and  down  on  the  heavy  waves,  threatened 
to  overturn. 

My  parents  turned  hastily  to  shore  and  plied  their 
paddles.  Suddenly  my  father  leaned  over  his  side  of 
the  boat,  almost  tipping  it  over  and  tumbling  my 
mother  in  upon  him;  she  caught  at  the  edge  of  the  boat 
to  save  herself,  but  had  the  presence  of  mind  not  to 
drop  her  paddle.  Then  she  saw  what  had  happened; 
I  had  fallen  into  the  water,  and  my  father  was  drawing 
me,  wet  but  unhurt,  into  the  boat. 

I  have  said  that  my  uncle,  Flies  Low,  and  I  rode  in 


BIRTH 


the  second  boat.  I  had  grown  restless,  and  he  had 
loosened  my  cradle  clothes  to  give  me  room  to  move 
my  limbs.  When  we  ran  into  the  storm,  our  boat 
rocked  so  violently  that  I  slipped  from  his  arms,  but 
my  loosened  clothes  made  me  float. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  drop  the  baby,"  my  uncle  said 
afterwards.  "  I  thought  the  boat  had  upset  and  I  was 
frightened."  He  was  only  a  lad,  and  my  mother  could 
not  blame  him. 

We  reached  shore  in  a  terrible  storm  of  snow  and 
wind.  The  boats  were  dragged  up  on  the  beach;  the 
two  tents  were  hastily  pitched  to  shelter  the  women  and 
children;  and  fires  were  lighted. 

My  father  stopped  only  long 
enough  to  see  us  safe,  and  then 
pushed  on  through  the  storm 
with  the  horses,  which  my 
grandfather  had  been  driving 
along  the  shore  in  sight  of 
the  boats.  He  reached  the 
village  safely  and  drove  the 
horses  into  the  shelter  of  some 
woods  along  the  river. 

Boys  know  that  hi  summer, 
when  they  go  swimming,  it 
is  warmer  to  stay  in  the  water, 
than  upon  the  bank,  in  a  wind. 
There  was  a  pond  in  the 
woods;  and  our  horses  waded  FUnt  and  Steel>  ^  Bag 
into  the  water  to  escape  the 

cold  wind.  When  they  came  out  the  wind  chilled 
their  coats,  so  that  three  of  them  died. 

The  storm  lasted  four  days.    When  it  was  over,  my 


i8  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

mother  and  the  rest  of  the  party  re-embarked  in  their 
bull  boats  and  floated  safely  down  to  Like-a-fish-hook 
village. 

Of  course  I  remember  nothing  of  these  things;  but 
I  have  told  the  story  as  I  heard  it  from  the  lips  of  my 
mother. 


Hidatsa  Earth  Lodge. 


II 


CHILDHOOD 


LIKE-A-FISH-HOOK    village   stood    on   a   bluff 
overlooking  the  Missouri,  and  contained  about 
seventy  dwellings.     Most  of   these  were  earth 
lodges,  but  a  few  were  log  cabins  which  traders  had 
taught  us  to  build. 

My  grandfather's  was  a  large,  well-built  earth  lodge, 
with  a  floor  measuring  about  forty  feet  across.  Small 
Ankle,  his  two  wives  and  their  younger  children;  his 
sons,  Bear's  Tail  and  Wolf  Chief,  and  his  daughter, 
my  mother,  with  their  families,  dwelt  together.  It 
was  usual  for  several  families  of  relatives  to  dwell 
together  in  one  lodge. 

An  earth  lodge  was  built  with  a  good  deal  of  labor. 
The  posts  were  cut  in  summer,  and  let  lie  in  the  woods 


2O 


GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 


until  snow  fell;  men  then  dragged  them  to  the  village 
with  ropes.  Holes  were  dug  the  next  spring,  and  the 
posts  raised.  Stringers,  laid  along  the  tops  of  the 
posts,  supported  rafters;  and  upon  these  was  laid  a 
matting  of  willows  and  dry  grass.  Over  all  went  a 
thick  layer  of  sods. 

The  four  great  posts  that  upheld  the  roof  had  each 

a  buffalo  calf  skin 
or  a  piece  of 
bright-colored  cal- 
ico bound  about  it 
at  the  height  of 
a  man's  head. 
These  were  offer- 
ings to  the  house 
spirit.  We  Hidat- 
sas  believed  that 
an  earth  lodge  was 
alive,  and  that 
the  lodge's  spirit, 
or  soul,  dwelt  in 
the  four  posts. 
Certain  medicine 
women  were  hired 
to  raise  these  posts  in  place  when  a  lodge  was  built. 

Our  lodge  was  picturesque  within,  especially  by  the 
yellow  light  of  the  evening  fire.  In  the  center  of  the 
floor,  under  the  smoke  hole,  was  the  fireplace  ;  a 
screen  of  puncheons,  or  split  logs,  set  on  end,  stood 
between  it  and  the  door.  On  the  right  was  the  corral, 
where  horses  were  stabled  at  night.  In  the  back  of  the 
lodge  were  the  covered  beds  of  the  household,  and  my 
grandfather's  medicines,  or  sacred  objects.  The  most 


Small  Ankle's  Couch. 


CHILDHOOD  21 

important  of  these  sacred  objects  were  two  human  skulls 
of  the  Big  Birds'  ceremony,  as  it  was  called.  Small 
Ankle  was  a  medicine  man  and  when  our  corn  fields 
suffered  from  drought,  he  prayed  to  the  skulls  for  rain. 

Against  the  puncheon  screen  on  the  side  next  the  fire- 
place, was  a  couch  made  of  planks  laid  on  small  logs, 
with  a  bedding  of  robes.  This  couch  was  my  grand- 
father's bed  at  night,  and  his  lounging  place  by 
day.  A  buffalo  skin  overhead  protected  him  from 
bits  of  falling  earth  or  a  leak  in  the  roof,  when  it  rained. 

My  two  grandmothers  also  used  the  couch  as  a  bench 
when  making  ready  the  family  meals;  and  the  water 
and  grease  spilled  by  them  and  trampled  into  the  dirt 
floor  made  the  spot  between  the  couch  and  the  fireplace 
as  hard  as  brick.  Small  Ankle  filed  his  finger  nails 
here  against  the  hard  floor. 

The  earliest  thing  that  I  remember,  is  my  grand- 
father sitting  on  his  couch,  plucking  gray  hairs  from 
his  head.  Indians  do  not  like  to  see  themselves  growing 
old,  and  Small  Ankle's  friends  used  to  tease  him.  "  We 
see  our  brother  is  growing  gray — and  old!  "  they  would 
say,  laughing.  Small  Ankle  used  to  sit  on  the  edge  of 
his  couch  with  his  face  tilted  toward  the  smoke  hole, 
and  drawing  his  loose  hair  before  his  eyes,  he  would 
search  for  gray  ones. 

He  had  another  habit  I  greatly  admired.  The 
grease  dropped  from  my  grandmothers'  cooking,  drew 
many  flies  into  our  lodge,  and  as  my  grandfather  sat 
on  his  couch,  the  flies  would  alight  on  his  bare  shoulders 
and  arms.  He  used  to  fight  them  off  with  a  little 
wooden  paddle.  I  can  yet  hear  the  little  paddle's  spat 
as  it  fell  on  some  luckless  fly,  against  his  bare  flesh. 
No  war  club  had  surer  aim. 


22  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

His  couch,  indeed,  was  the  throne  from  which  my 
grandfather  ruled  his  household,  and  his  rule  began 
daily  at  an  early  hour.  He  arose  with  the  birds,  raked 
coals  from  the  ashes  and  started  a  fire.  Then  we  would 
hear  his  voice,  "  Awake,  daughters;  up,  sons;  out,  all 
of  you!  The  sun  is  up!  Wash  your  faces! " 

My  fat  grandmothers  made  a  funny  sight,  washing 
their  faces;  stooping,  with  eyes  tightly  shut,  each 
filled  her  mouth  with  water,  blew  it  into  her  palms 
and  rubbed  them  over  her  face.  No  towels  were  used. 

The  men  of  the  household  more  often  went  down 
for  a  plunge  in  the  river.  Some  of  the  young  men  of  the 
village  bathed  in  the  river  the  whole  year,  through  a 
hole  in  the  ice  in  winter. 

Many  bathers,  after  their  morning  plunge,  rubbed 
their  wet  bodies  with  white  clay;  this  warmed  and 
freshened  the  skin. 

My  mother  usually  washed  my  face  for  me;  I  liked 
it  quite  as  little  as  any  white  boy. 

Our  morning  meal  was  now  eaten,  hominy  boiled 
with  beans  and  buffalo  fat,  and  seasoned  with  alkali 
salt — spring  salt  we  called  it,  because  we  gathered  it 
from  the  edges  of  springs.  After  the  meal,  I  had 
nothing  to  do  all  day  but  play. 

My  best  loved  toy  was  my  bow,  of  choke-cherry 
wood,  given  me  when  I  was  four  years  old.  My  arrows 
were  of  buck-brush  shoots,  unfeathered.  These  shoots 
were  brought  in  green,  and  thrust  into  the  hot  ashes 
of  the  fireplace  ;  when  heated,  they  were  drawn  out 
and  the  bark  peeled  off,  leaving  them  a  beautiful  yellow. 
Buck-brush  arrows  are  light,  and  I  was  allowed  to  shoot 
them  within  the  lodge. 

My  uncle,  Full  Heart,  a  boy  two  years  older  than 


CHILDHOOD  23 

myself,  taught  me  how  to  use  my  bow.  In  our  lodge 
were  many  mice  that  nested  in  holes  under  the  sloping 
roof,  and  my  uncle  and  I  hunted  these  mice  as  savagely 
as  our  fathers  hunted  buffaloes.  I  think  I  was  not  a 
very  good  shot,  for  I  do  not  remember  ever  killing  one. 

But  I  had  the  ill  luck  to  shoot  my  mother.  She 
was  stooping  at  her  work,  one  day,  when  an  arrow 
badly  aimed  struck  her  hi  the  cheek,  its  point  pierced 
the  skin,  and  the  shaft  remained  hanging  in  the  flesh. 
I  saw  the  blood  start  and  heard  my  mother  cry,  "  Oh, 
my  son  has  shot  me!  "  I  dropped  my  bow  and  ran, 
for  I  thought  I  had  killed  her;  but  she  drew  out  the 
shaft,  laughing. 

I  was  too  young  to  have  any  fear  of  the  Sioux,  and  I 
had  not  yet  learned  to  be  afraid  of  ghosts,  but  I  was 
afraid  of  owls,  for  I  was  taught  that  they  punished  little 
boys.  Sometimes,  if  I  was  pettish,  my  uncles  would 
cry,  "The  owl  is  coming!  "  And  in  the  back  of  the 
lodge  a  voice  would  call,  "  Hoo,  hoo,  hoof  "  This  always 
gave  me  a  good  fright,  and  I  would  run  to  my  grand- 
father and  cover  my  head  with  his  robe,  or  hide  in  my 
father's  bed. 

It  was  not  the  custom  of  my  tribe  for  parents  to 
punish  their  own  children;  usually,  the  father  called 
in  a  clan  brother  to  do  this.  My  uncle,  Flies  Low,  a 
clan  brother  of  my  father,  punished  me  when  I  was 
bad,  but  he  seldom  did  more  than  threaten. 

Sometimes  my  mother  would  say,  "  My  son  is  bad, 
pierce  his  flesh!  "  and  my  uncle  would  take  an  arrow, 
pinch  the  flesh  of  my  arm,  and  make  as  if  he  would 
pierce  it.  I  would  cry,  "  I  will  be  good,  I  will  be  good !  " 
and  he  would  let  me  go  without  doing  more  than  giving 
me  a  good  fright. 


24  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

A  very  naughty  boy  was  sometimes  punished  by 
rolling  him  in  a  snow  bank,  or  ducking  him  in  water. 

One  winter  evening  I  was  vexed  at  my  mother  and 
would  not  go  to  bed.  "  Come,"  she  said,  trying  to 
draw  me  away,  but  I  fought,  kicking  at  her  and  scream- 
ing. Quite  out  of  patience,  my  mother  turned  to 
Flies  Low.  "  Apatip — duck  him!  "  she  cried.  A  pail 
of  water  stood  by  the  fireplace.  Flies  Low  caught  me 
up,  my  legs  over  his  shoulder,  and  plunged  me,  head 
downward,  into  the  pail.  I  broke  from  him  screaming, 
but  he  caught  me  and  plunged  me  in  again.  The 
water  strangled  me,  I  thought  I  was  going  to  die! 

"  Stop  crying,"  said  my  uncle. 

My  mother  took  me  by  the  arm.  "  Stop  crying," 
she  said.  "  If  you  are  bad,  I  will  call  your  uncle  again !  " 
And  she  put  me  to  bed. 

We  Indian  children  knew  nothing  of  marbles  or 
skates.  I  had  a  swing,  made  of  my  mother's  packing 
strap,  and  a  top, cut  from  the  tip 
of  a  buffalo's  horn.  Many  boys 
owned  sleds,  made  of  five  or  six 
buffalo  ribs  bound  side  by  side. 
With  these  they  coasted  down 
the  steep  Missouri  bank,  but 

'  Sled  of  Buffalo  Ribs. 

that  was  play  for  older  boys. 

Few  wagons  were  owned  by  the  tribe  at  this  time. 
When  journeying,  we  packed  our  baggage  on  the  backs 
of  ponies,  or  on  travois  dragged  by  dogs. 

A  travois  was  a  curious  vehicle.  It  was  made  of 
two  poles  lashed  together  in  the  shape  of  a  V,  and 
bearing  a  flat  basket  woven  with  thongs.  A  good  dog 
with  a  travois  could  drag  sixty  or  eighty  pounds  over 
the  snow,  or  on  the  smooth  prairie  grass. 


CHILDHOOD  25 

But  a  travois's  chief  use  was  in  dragging  in  wood 
for  a  lodge  fire.  In  our  lodge  my  mother  and  my  two 
grandmothers,  with  five  dogs,  went  for  wood  about 
twice  a  week.  They  started  at  sunrise  for  the  woods, 
a  mile  or  two  away,  and  returned  about  noon. 

It  happened  one  morning  that  my  father  and  mother 
went  to  gather  wood,  and  I  asked  to  go  along.  "  No," 
they  said,  "  you  would  but  be  in  our  way.  You  stay 


Dog  Travels. 

at  home!  "     But  I  wept  and  teased  until  they  let  me 

go- 

My  parents  walked  before,  the  dogs  following  in  a 
single  file.  They  were  gentle  animals,  used  to  having 
me  play  with  them ;  and  I  was  amusing  myself  running 
along,  jumping  on  a  travois,  riding  a  bit,  and  jumping 
off  again. 

Our  road  led  to  a  choke-cherry  grove,  but  it  was 
crossed  by  another  that  went  to  the  river.  As  we 
neared  the  place  where  the  roads  crossed,  we  saw  a 
woman  coming  down  the  river  road,  also  followed  by 
three  or  four  dogs  in  travois.  I  had  just  leaped  on  the 
travois  of  one  of  our  dogs. 

The  packs  spied  each  other  at  the  same  instant;  and 


26  GOODBIRD   THE  INDIAN 

our  dogs,  pricking  up  their  ears,  burst  into  yelps  and 
started  for  the  other  pack.  I  was  frightened  out  of 
my  wits.  "  Ai,  ai,  ai!"  I  yelled;  for  I  thought  I  was 
going  to  be  eaten  up.  The  dogs  were  leaping  along 
at  such  speed  that  I  dared  not  jump  off. 

The  woman  with  the  strange  dogs  ran  between  the 
packs  crying,  "  Na,  na, — go  way,  go  way!"  This 
stopped  our  dogs;  and  I  sprang  to  the  ground  and  ran 
to  my  mother.  I  would  never  ride  a  travois  again. 

Taking  it  altogether,  children  were  well  treated  in 
my  tribe.  Food  was  coarse,  but  nourishing;  and  there 
was  usually  plenty  of  it.  Children  of  poor  families 
suffered  for  clothing,  but  rarely  for  food,  for  a  family 
having  meat  or  corn  always  shared  with  any  who  were 
hungry.  If  a  child's  parents  died,  relatives  or  friends 
cared  for  him. 

My  mother  sighs  for  the  good  old  times.  "  Children 
were  then  in  every  lodge,"  she  says,  "  and  there  were 
many  old  men  in  the  tribe.  Now  that  we  live  in  cabins 
and  eat  white  men's  foods,  the  children  and  old  men 
die;  and  our  tribe  dies!" 

But  this  is  hardly  true  of  the  Christian  families. 


Ill 


THE   GODS 


I  HAVE  said  we  Hidatsas 
believed  that  an  earth 
lodge  was  alive;  and  that 
its  soul,  or  spirit,  dwelt  in  the 
four  big  roof  posts.  We  be- 
lieved, indeed,  that  this  world 
and  everything  in  it  was  alive 
and  had  spirits;  and  our  faith 
in  these  spirits  and  our  wor- 
ship of  them  made  our  re- 
ligion. 

My  father  explained  this  to 
me.  "All  things  in  this  world," 
he  said,  "  have  souls,  or  spirits. 
The  sky  has  a  spirit;  the 
clouds  have  spirits ;  the  sun  and 
moon  have  spirits;  so  have 
animals,  trees,  grass,  water, 
stones,  everything.  These 
spirits  are  our  gods;  and  we 
pray  to  them  and  give  them 
offerings,  that  they  may  help 
us  in  our  need." 

We  Indians  did  not  believe 
in  one  Great  Spirit,  as  white 


Seeking  His  God. 
37 


28  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

men  seem  to  think  all  Indians  do.  We  did  believe  that 
certain  gods  were  more  powerful  than  others.  Of 
these  was  It-si-ka-ma-hi-di,  our  elder  creator,  the 
spirit  of  the  prairie  wolf;  and  Ka-du-te-ta,  or  Old- 
woman-who-never-dies,  who  first  taught  my  people  to 
till  their  fields.  Long  histories  are  given  of  these 
gods. 

Any  one  could  pray  to  the  spirits,  receiving  answer 
usually  in  a  dream.  Indeed,  all  dreams  were  thought 
to  be  from  the  spirits;  and  for  this  reason  they  were 
always  heeded,  especially  those  that  came  by  fasting 
and  suffering.  Sometimes  a  man  fasted  and  tortured 
himself  until  he  fell  into  a  kind  of  dream  while  yet 
awake;  we  called  this  a  vision. 

A  man  whom  the  gods  helped  and  visited  in  dreams, 
was  said  to  have  mystery  power;  and  one  who  had 
much  mystery  power,  we  called  a  mystery  man,  or 
medicine  man.  Almost  every  one  received  dreams 
from  the  spirits  at  some  time;  but  a  medicine  man 
received  them  more  often  than  others. 

A  man  might  have  mystery  power  and  not  use  it 
wisely.  There  once  lived  in  our  village  a  medicine 
man  who  had  one  little  son.  On  day  in  summer,  the 
little  boy  with  some  playmates  crossed  a  shallow  creek 
behind  the  village  in  search  of  grass  for  grass  arrows. 
It  happened  that  the  villagers'  fields  were  suffering  from 
drought,  and  that  very  day,  some  old  men  brought 
gifts  to  the  medicine  man  and  asked  him  to  send  them 
rain. 

The  medicine  man  prayed  to  his  gods,  and  in  an 
hour  rain  fell  in  torrents.  The  little  boys,  seeking  to 
return,  found  the  creek  choked  by  the  rising  waters; 
greatly  frightened,  they  plunged  in,  and  all  got 


THE  GODS  29 

safely  over  but  the  medicine  man's  little  son;  he 
was  drowned. 

The  medicine  man  mourned  bitterly  for  his  son, 
for  he  thought  it  was  he  that  had  caused  the  little  boy's 
death. 

Believing  as  he  did  that  the  world  was  full  of  spirits, 
every  Indian  hoped  that  one  of  them  would  come  to 
him  and  be  his  protector,  especially  in  war.  When  a 
lad  became  about  seventeen  years  of  age,  his  parents 
would  say,  "  You  are  now  old  enough  to  go  to  war; 
but  you  should  first  go  out  and  find  your  god!"  They 
meant  by  this,  that  he  should  not  risk  his  life  in  battle 
until  he  had  a  protecting  spirit. 

Finding  one's  god  was  not  an  easy  task.  The  lad 
painted  his  body  with  white  clay,  as  if  in  mourning, 
and  went  out  among  the  hills,  upon  some  bluff,  where 
he  could  be  seen  of  the  gods;  and  for  days,  with  neither 
food  nor  drink,  and  often  torturing  himself,  he  cried 
to  the  gods  to  pity  him  and  come  to  him.  His  suffer- 
ings at  last  brought  on  delirium,  so  that  he  dreamed, 
or  saw  a  vision.  Whatever  he  saw  in  this  vision  was 
his  god,  come  to  pledge  him  protection.  Usually  this 
god  was  a  bird  or  beast;  or  it  might  be  the  spirit  of 
some  one  dead;  the  bird  or  beast  was  not  a  flesh-and- 
blood  animal,  but  a  spirit. 

The  lad  then  returned  home.  As  soon  as  he  was 
recovered  from  his  fast,  he  set  out  to  kill  an  animal 
like  that  seen  hi  his  vision,  and  its  dried  skin,  or  a  part 
of  it,  he  kept  as  his  sacred  object,  or  medicine,  for  in 
this  sacred  object  dwelt  his  god.  Thus  if  an  otter 
god  appeared  to  him,  the  lad  would  kill  an  otter,  and 
into  its  skin,  which  the  lad  kept,  the  god  entered.  The 
otter  skin  was  now  the  lad's  medicine;  he  prayed  to  it 


30  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

and  bore  it  with  him  to  war,  that  his  god  might  be 
present  to  protect  him. 

Indians  even  made  offerings  of  food  to  their  sacred 
objects.  They  knew  the  sacred  object  did  not  eat  the 
food;  but  they  believed  that  the  god,  or  spirit,  in  the 
sacred  object,  ate  the  spirit  of  the  food.  They  also 
burned  cedar  incense  to  their  sacred  objects. 

The  story  of  my  uncle  Wolf  Chief,  as  he  was  after- 
wards called,  will  show  what  sufferings  a  young  man 
was  willing  to  endure  who  went  out  to  seek  his  god. 
He  was  but  seventeen  when  his  father,  Small  Ankle, 
said  to  him,  "  My  son,  I  think  you  should  go 
out  and  seek  your  god!"  The  next  morning  my 
uncle  climbed  a  high  butte  overlooking  the  Missouri, 
and  prayed: 

"O  gods,  I  am  poor;  I  lead  a  poor  life; 
Make  me  a  good  man,  a  brave  warrior! 
I  want  to  be  a  great  warrior; 
I  want  to  capture  many  horses; 
I  want  to  teach  much  to  my  people; 
I  want  to  be  their  chief  and  save  them  in  their  need!" 

For  three  days  and  nights,  my  uncle  prayed;  and  in 
this  time  he  had  not  a  mouthful  of  food,  not  a  drop  of 
water  to  drink.  The  fourth  day  his  father  came  to 
him.  "  My  son,"  he  said,  "  perhaps  the  gods  would 
have  you  become  a  great  man :  and  they  are  trying 
you,  whether  you  are  worthy,  You  have  not  suffered 
enough!" 

"  I  am  ready,  father,"  said  my  uncle. 

Small  Ankle  fixed  a  stout  post  in  the  ground  and 


THE   GODS 


fastened  my  uncle  to  it  with  thongs,  so  that  all  day  he 
was  in  great  suffering. 

In  the  evening,  Small  Ankle  came  and  cut  him  loose. 
"  You  have  suffered  enough,  my  son,"  he  said;  "  I 
think  the  gods  will  now  pity  you  and  give  you  a  dream !" 

He  took  my  uncle  home  and  gave  him  something  to 
eat  and  drink;  then  he  laid  the  boy  tenderly  upon  a 
pile  of  buffalo  skins,  before  his  own  medicines. 

For  a  long  time,  my  uncle  could  not  sleep  for  the  pain 
from  his  wounds.  A  little  before  daylight,  he  fell  into 
a  troubled  dream.  He  heard  a  man  outside,  walking 
around  the  earth  lodge.  The  man  was  singing  a 
mystery  song;  now  and  then  he  paused  and  cried, 
"  You  have  done  well,  Strong  Bull!" 

Small  Ankle  was  very  happy  when  my  uncle  awoke 
and  told  him  his  dream.  He  knew  that  one  of  the  gods 
had  now  come  to  his  son  to  protect  him  and  help  him; 
and  he  called  the  boy  by  his  new  name,  Strong  Bull, 
that  the  god  had 
given  him. 

Other  men  had 
different  dreams. 
My  grandfather 
once  told  me  of  a 
man  who  had  a 
vision  of  four  buf- 
falo skulls  that  be- 
came alive. 

Many  years  ago 
when  our  villages 
were  on  Knife  River 

a  man  named   Bush  went  out  to  find  his  god. 
sought    a   vision   from    the    buffalo    spirits;    and 


Buffalo  Skulls. 


He 
he 


32  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

thought  to  make  himself  suffer  so  that  the  spirits  might 
pity  him.  He  tied  four  buffalo  skulls  in  a  train, 
one  behind  another,  and  as  Bush  walked  he  dragged 
the  train  of  skulls  behind  him. 

He  made  his  way  painfully  up  the  Missouri,  mourning 
and  crying  to  the  gods.  The  banks  of  the  Missouri 
are  much  cut  up  by  ravines,  and  Bush  suffered  greatly 
as  he  dragged  the  heavy  skulls  over  this  rough  country. 

Fifty  miles  north  of  the  villages,  he  came  to  the 
Little  Missouri,  a  shallow  stream,  but  subject  to  sudden 
freshets;  he  found  the  river  flooded,  and  rising. 

He  stood  on  the  bank  and  cried:  "  0  gods,  I  am  poor 
and  I  suffer!  I  want  to  find  my  god.  Other  men  have 
suffered,  and  found  their  gods.  Now  I  suffer  much, 
but  no  god  answers  me.  I  am  going  to  plunge  into 
this  torrent.  I  think  I  shall  die,  yet  I  will  plunge  in. 
O  gods,  if  you  are  going  to  answer  me,  do  it  now  and 
save  me!" 

He  waded  in,  dragging  the  heavy  skulls  after  him. 
The  water  grew  deeper.  He  could  no  longer  wade,  he 
had  to  swim ;  he  struck  out. 

He  wondered  that  he  no  longer  felt  the  weight  of  the 
skulls,  and  that  he  did  not  sink.  The  he  heard  some- 
thing behind  him  cry,  "  Whoo-oo-ooh!"  He  looked 
around.  The  four  buffalo  skulls  were  swimming  about 
him,  buoying  him  up;  but  they  were  no  longer  skulls! 
Flesh  and  woolly  hair  covered  them;  they  had  big, 
blue  eyes;  they  had  red  tongues.  They  were  alive! 

Bush   himself   told   this   story   to  my  grandfather. 

It  should  not  be  thought  that  Bush  was  trying  to 
deceive  when  he  said  he  saw  these  things.  If  one  had 
been  with  him  when  he  sprang  into  the  torrent,  and  had 
cried,  "  Bush,  the  skulls  are  not  alive;  it  is  your  delirium 


THE  GODS  33 

that  makes  you  think  they  live!"  he  would  have 
answered,  "  Of  course  you  cannot  see  they  are  alive ! 
The  vision  is  to  me,  not  to  you.  The  flesh  and  hair  and 
eyes  are  spirit  flesh.  I  see  them;  you  see  only  the 
skulls!" 

A  man  might  go  out  many  times  thus,  to  find  his 
god.  If  he  had  ill  success  in  war,  or  if  sickness  or  mis- 
fortune came  upon  him,  he  would  think  the  gods  had 
forgotten  him;  and  he  would  throw  away  his  moccasins, 
cut  his  hair  as  for  mourning,  paint  his  face  with  white 
clay,  and  again  cry  to  the  gods  for  a  vision. 

A  medicine  man's  visions  were  like  other  men's; 
but  we  gave  them  more  heed,  because  we  thought  he 
had  more  power  with  the  gods.  We  looked  upon  a 
medicine  man  as  a  prophet;  his  dreams  and  visions 
were  messages  to  us  from  the  spirits;  and  we  thought 
of  his  mystery  power  as  white  men  think  of  a  prophet's 
power  to  work  miracles.  Our  medicine  men  sought 
visions  for  us,  and  messages  from  the  gods,  just  as 
white  men's  preachers  study  to  tell  them  what  God 
speaks  to  them  in  His  Book. 

A  medicine  man  had  much  influence  in  the  tribe.  He 
cured  our  sick,  called  the  buffalo  herds  to  us,  gave  us 
advice  when  a  war  party  was  being  formed,  and  in 
times  of  drought  prayed  for  rain. 

Worshipping  as  we  did  many  gods,  we  Indians  did 
not  think  it  strange  that  white  men  prayed  to  another 
God;  and  when  missionaries  came,  we  did  not  think 
it  wrong  that  they  taught  us  to  pray  to  their  God, 
but  that  they  said  we  should  not  pray  to  our  own 
gods.  "  Why,"  we  asked,  "  do  the  missionaries  hate 
our  gods?  We  do  not  deny  the  white  men's  Great 
Spirit;  why,  then,  should  they  deny  our  gods?" 


34  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

Sometimes  Indians  who  seek  to  join  the  mission 
church,  secretly  pray  to  their  own  gods;  more  often 
an  Indian  who  accepts  Jesus  Christ  and  tries  to  follow 
Him,  still  fears  his  old  gods,  although  he  no  longer 
prays  to  them. 

Many  older  Indians,  who  do  not  know  English, 
look  upon  Jesus  Christ  as  they  would  upon  one  of  their 
own  gods;  a  story  will  show  how  His  mission  is  some- 
times misunderstood. 

On  this  reservation  lives  a  medicine  woman,  named 
Minnie  Enemy  Heart.  When  a  girl,  she  went  to  the 
mission  school  and  learned  something  about  Jesus 
Christ.  Afterward,  as  her  fathers  had  done,  she  went 
into  the  hills  to  seek  her  god.  She  says  that  she  fasted 
and  prayed,  and  Jesus  came  to  her  in  a  vision.  One 
side  of  his  body  was  dark,  like  an  Indian;  the  other 
side  was  white,  like  a  white  man.  In  His  white  hand 
he  carried  a  lamb;  in  the  other,  a  little  dog. 

Jesus  explained  the  vision.  "  My  body,"  He  said, 
"  half  dark  and  half  white,  means  that  I  am  as  much  an 
Indian  as  I  am  a  white  man.  This  dog  means  that 
Indian  ways  are  for  Indians,  as  white  ways  are  for 
white  men;  for  Indians  sacrifice  dogs,  as  white  men 
once  sacrificed  lambs.  If  the  missionaries  tell  you  this 
is  not  true,  ask  them  who  crucified  me,  were  they  Indians 
or  white  men?" 

Many  Indians  believe  this  vision.  More  than  fifteen 
have  left  the  Catholic  priest  to  follow  Minnie  Enemy 
Heart,  and  three  or  four  have  left  our  Protestant 
mission. 

To  us  Indians,  the  spirit  world  seemed  very  near, 
and  we  did  nothing  without  taking  thought  of  the  gods. 
If  we  would  begin  a  journey,  form  a  war  party,  hunt,  trap 


THE   GODS  35 

eagles,  or  fish,  or  plant  corn,  we  first  prayed  to  the 
spirits.  A  bad  dream  would  send  the  bravest  war 
party  hurrying  home. 

If  our  belief  seem  strange  to  white  men,  theirs  seemed 
just  as  strange  to  us. 


IV 


INDIAN  BELIEFS 


MANY  medi- 
cine men 
added  to 
their  mystery  power 
by  owning  sacred 
bundles,  neatly  bound 
bundles  of  skin  or 
cloth,  containing  sa- 
cred objects  or  relics 
that  had  been  handed 
down  from  old  times. 
Every  bundle  had  its 
history,  telling  how 
the  bundle  began  and 
what  gods  they  were 
that  helped  those 
who  prayed  before  it. 
There  were  about 
sixty  of  these  sacred 
bundles  in  the  tribe, 
when  I  was  a  boy. 

The  owner  of  a  sacred  bundle  was  called  its  keeper; 
he  usually  kept  it  hung  on  his  medicine  post,  in  the 
back  part  of  his  lodge.  A  sacred  bundle  was  looked 

36 


Medicine  Post  and  Sacred  Bundle. 


INDIAN  BELIEFS 


37 


upon  as  a  kind  of  shrine,  and  in  some  lodges  strangers 
were  forbidden  to  walk  between  it  and  the  fire. 

When  a  keeper  became  old,  he  sold  his  sacred  bundle 
to  some  younger  man,  that  its  rites  might  not  die  with 
him.  The  young  man  paid  a  hundred  tanned  buffalo 
skins  and  a  gun  or  pony,  and  made  a  feast  for  the  keeper; 
at  this  feast,  the  young  man  received  the  bundle  with 


Shrine  and  Sacred  Bundle  of  the  Big  Birds'  Ceremony. 

the  rites  and  songs  that  went  with  it.  This  was  called, 
"  making  a  ceremony." 

White  men  think  it  strange  that  we  Indians  honored 
these  sacred  bundles;  but  I  have  heard  that  in  Europe 
men  once  honored  relics,  the  skull,  or  a  bone,  or  a  bit 
of  hair  of  some  saint,  or  a  nail  from  Jesus'  cross;  that 
they  did  not  pray  to  the  relic,  but  thought  that  the 
spirit  of  the  saint  was  near;  or  that  he  was  more  willing 
to  hear  their  prayers  when  they  knelt  before  the  relic. 

In  much  the  same  way,  we  Indians  honored  our 
sacred  bundles.  They  contained  sacred  objects,  or 


38  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

relics,  that  had  belonged  each  to  some  god — his  scalp, 
or  skull,  the  pipe  he  smoked,  or  his  robe.  We  did  not 
pray  to  the  object,  but  to  the  god  or  spirit  to  whom  it 
had  belonged,  and  we  thought  these  sacred  objects 
had  wonderful  power,  just  as  white  men  once  thought 
they  could  be  cured  of  sickness  by  touching  the  bone 
of  some  saint. 

A  medicine  man's  influence  was  greater  if  he  owned 
a  sacred  bundle.  Men  then  came  to  him  not  only 
because  the  spirits  answered  him  when  he  fasted,  but 
because,  as  its  keeper,  he  had  power  from  the  gods  of 
the  sacred  bundle. 

The  most  famous  of  these  sacred  bundles  belonged  to 
my  grandfather,  Small  Ankle.  It  was  called  the  bundle 
of  the  Big  Birds'  ceremony.  It  was  kept  on  a  kind  of 
stand  in  the  back  part  of  our  lodge,  and  it  contained  two 
skulls  and  a  carved  wooden  pipe.  These  objects  were 
thought  to  be  very  holy. 

When  my  tribe  came  up  the  Missouri  to  Like-a-fish- 
hook  Bend,  where  they  built  their  last  village,  they 
first  camped  there  in  tepees.  A  question  arose  as  to 
how  they  should  plan  their  village,  and  the  more  im- 
portant medicine  men  of  the  tribe  came  and  sat  in  a 
circle,  to  consider  what  to  do.  This  was  seven  years 
after  the  small-pox  year. 

At  that  time,  the  skulls  of  the  Big  Birds'  ceremony 
were  owned  by  an  old  man  named  Missouri  River. 
The  other  medicine  men,  knowing  that  these  skulls 
were  most  important  sacred  objects  in  the  tribe,  said 
to  Missouri  River,  "  Your  gods  are  most  powerful. 
Tell  us  how  we  should  lay  out  our  village!" 

Missouri  River  brought  the  two  skulls  from  his  tent, 
and  holding  one  in  either  hand,  he  walked  around  in 


INDIAN  BELIEFS  39 

a  wide  circle,  returning  again  to  the  place  where  he 
had  started.  "  We  will  leave  this  circle  open,  in  the 
center  of  our  village,"  he  said.  "  So  shall  we  plan  it!  " 

He  laid  the  skulls  on  the  grass  and  said  to  Big  Cloud, 
Small  Ankle's  son-in-law,  "  Your  gods  are  powerful. 
Choose  where  you  will  build  your  earth  lodge!  " 

Big  Cloud  arose.  "  I  will  build  it  here,"  he  said, 
"  where  lie  the  two  skulls.  The  door  shall  face  the  west, 
for  my  gods  are  eagles  that  send  thunder,  and  eagles 
and  thunders  come  from  the  west.  And  so  I  think 
we  shall  have  rain,  and  our  children  and  our  fields 
shall  thrive,  and  we  shall  live  here  many  years."  Big 
Cloud  had  once  seen  a  vision  of  thunder  eagles,  awake 
and  with  his  eyes  open. 

The  medicine  men  said  to  Has-a-game-stick,  "  You 
choose  a  place  for  your  lodge! " 

Has-a-game-stick  stood  and  said,  "  My  god  is  the 
Sunset  Woman.  I  want  my  lodge  to  face  the  sunset, 
that  the  Sunset  Woman  may  remember  me,  and  I  will 
pray  to  her  that  the  village  may  have  plenty  and  enemies 
may  never  take  it,  and  I  think  the  Sunset  Woman  will 
hear  me! " 

The  medicine  men  said  to  Bad  Horn,  "  You  stand  up!  " 

Bad  Horn  stood  and  said,  "  My  gods  are  bears,  and 
bears  always  make  the  mouths  of  their  dens  open 
toward  the  north.  I  want  my  lodge  door  to  open  toward 
the  north,  that  my  bear  gods  may  remember  me.  And 
I  will  pray  to  them  that  this  village  may  stand  many 
years!  " 

The  medicine  men  then  said  to  Missouri  River, 
"  Choose  a  place  for  your  lodge !  " 

Missouri  River  took  the  two  skulls,  one  in  either 
hand,  and  singing  a  mystery  song,  walked  around  the 


40  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

circle  with  his  right  hand  toward  the  center,  as  moves 
the  sun.  Three  times  he  walked  around,  the  fourth 
time  he  stopped  at  a  place  and  prayed,  "  My  gods, 
you  are  my  protectors,  protect  also  this  village.  Send 
also  rains  that  our  grain  may  grow,  and  our  children 
may  eat  and  be  strong  and  healthy.  So  shall  we  pros- 
per, because  my  sacred  bundle  is  in  the  village." 

He  turned  to  the  company  upon  the  grass.  "Go, 
the  rest  of  you,"  he  said,  "  and  choose  where  you  will 
build  your  lodges;  and  keep  the  circle  open,  as  I  have 
marked! " 

Before  Missouri  River  died,  he  sold  his  sacred  bundle 
to  my  grandfather,  Small  Ankle;  and  Small  Ankle 
sold  it  to  his  son,  Wolf  Chief.  After  Wolf  Chief  became 
a  Christian,  he  sold  the  bundle  to  a  man  in  New  York, 
that  it  might  be  put  into  a  museum. 

We  had  other  beliefs,  besides  these  of  the  gods. 

We  thought  that  all  little  babies  had  lived  before, 
most  of  them  as  birds,  or  beasts,  or  even  plants.  My 
father,  Son-of-a-Star,  claimed  he  could  even  remember 
what  bird  he  had  been. 

We  believed  that  many  babies  came  from  the  babes' 
lodges.  There  were  several  of  these.  One  was  near  our 
villages  on  the  Knife  River.  It  was  a  hill  of  yellow 
sand,  with  a  rounded  top  like  the  roof  of  an  earth  lodge. 
In  one  side  was  a  little  cave,  and  the  ground  about  the 
cave's  mouth  was  worn  smooth,  as  if  children  played 
there.  Sometimes  in  the  morning,  little  footprints  were 
found  in  the  sand. 

To  this  hill  a  childless  wife  would  come  to  pray  for 
a  son  or  daughter.  She  would  lay  a  pair  of  very  beauti- 
ful child's  moccasins  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave  and 
pray:  "  I  am  poor.  I  am  lonesome.  Come  to  me,  one 


INDIAN  BELIEFS  41 

of  you!  I  love  you.  I  long  for  you !"  We  understood 
that  children  who  came  from  this  babes'  lodge  had 
light  skin  and  yellowish  hair,  like  yellow  sand. 

A  very  old  man  once  said  to  me:  "I  remember  my 
former  life.  I  lived  in  a  babes'  lodge.  It  was  like  a 
small  earth  lodge  inside.  There  was  a  pit  before  the 
door,  crossed  by  a  log.  Many  of  the  babes,  trying  to 
cross  the  pit,  fell  in.  But  I  walked  the  whole  length 
of  the  log;  hence  I  have  lived  to  be  an  old  man."  I 
have  heard  this  story  from  other  old  men. 

Very  small  children,  who  died  before  they  teethed 
or  were  old  enough  to  laugh,  were  not  buried  upon 
scaffolds  with  our  other  dead,  but  were  wrapped  in  skins 
and  placed  in  trees.  We  thought  if  such  a  baby  died, 
that  its  spirit  went  back  to  live  its  former  life  again, 
as  a  bird,  or  plant,  or  as  a  babe  in  one  of  the  babes' 
lodges. 

Older  children  and  men  and  women,  when  they  died, 
went  to  the  ghosts'  village.  This  was  a  big  town  of 
earth  lodges,  where  the  dead  lived  very  much  as  they 
had  lived  on  earth.  Older  Indians  of  my  tribe  still 
believe  in  the  ghosts'  village. 

There  were  men  in  my  tribe  who  had  died,  as  we 
believed,  and  gone  to  the  ghosts'  village,  and  come 
back  to  life  again.  From  these  men  we  learned  what 
the  ghosts'  village  was  like. 

My  mother's  grandfather  came  back  thus,  from  the 
ghosts'  village;  his  name  was  It-si-di-shi-di-it-a-ka,  or 
Old  Yellow  Elk. 

Old  Yellow  Elk  had  an  otter  skin  for  his  medicine, 
or  sacred  object.  He  died  in  the  small-pox  year;  and  his 
family  laid  his  body  out  on  a  hill  with  the  otter  skin 
under  his  head  for  a  pillow.  Logs  were  piled  about 


42  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

the  body,  to  keep  off  wolves.  Men  were  dying  so  fast 
that  there  was  no  time  to  make  burial  scaffolds. 

That  night  a  voice  was  heard  calling  from  the  hill, 
"  A-ha-he!  i-ha-he!  Come  for  me,  I  want  to  get 
up!" 

The  villagers  ran  to  the  grave  and  took  away  the 
logs,  and  Old  Yellow  Elk  arose  and  came  home. 

"  The  ghosts'  village  is  a  fine  town,"  he  told  his 
family.  "  I  saw  many  people  there,  they  gave  me  a 
spotted  pony.  My  god,  the  otter,  brought  me  back. 
He  led  me  up  the  bed  of  the  Missouri,  under  the  water. 
I  brought  my  pony  with  me  and  tied  him  to  a  log  on 
my  grave! " 

His  family  went  out  to  the  grave  the  next  morning 
and  looked  for  the  pony's  tracks,  but  found  none! 

All  these  things  I  firmly  believed,  when  I  was  a  boy. 


SCHOOL  DAYS 


I  WAS  six  years  old  when 
Mr.    Hall,  a  missionary, 
came    to    us,    from    the 
Santee  Sioux.    He  could  not 
speak  the  Mandan  or  the  Hi- 
datsa  language,  but  he  spoke 
Sioux,    which    some    of    our 
people  understood.     He  was  a 
good    singer;     and   he   had   a 
song  which  he  sang  with  Sioux 
words.       Our    people    would 
crowd  about  him  to  hear  it, 
for  it  was  the  first  Christian 
^ong    they    had    ever    heard. 
The  song  began : 


Ho  washte,  ho  washte, 
On  Jesus  yatan  miye; 
Ho  wakan,  ho  wakan, 
Nina  hin  yeyan!" 

The  words  are  a  translation   The  Sun  Man  (Redrawn  from 
of  an  English  hymn:  a  sketch  by  Goodbird). 

43 


44  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

"Sweetly  sing,  sweetly  sing, 
Jesus  is  our  Saviour  king; 
Let  us  raise,  let  us  raise, 
High  our  notes  of  praise!" 

It  is  a  custom  of  my  people  to  give  a  name  to  every 
stranger  who  comes  among  us,  either  from  some  singu- 
larity in  his  dress  or  appearance,  or  from  something 
that  he  says  or  does.  Our  people  caught  the  first  two 
words  of  the  missonary's  song  and  named  him  after 
them,  Ho  Washte.  He  is  still  called  by  this  name. 

Mr.  Hall  had  brought  his  wife  with  him,  and  they 
began  building  a  house  with  timbers  freighted  up  the 
river  on  a  steamboat.  Our  chief,  Crow's  Belly,  threat- 
ened to  burn  the  house,  but  the  missionary  made  him  a 
feast  and  explained  that  he  wanted  to  use  the  house 
for  a  school,  where  Indian  children  could  learn  English. 
Crow's  Belly  thought  this  a  good  plan,  and  made  no 
further  trouble. 

The  school  was  opened  the  next  winter.  It  was  soon 
noised  in  the  village  that  English  would  be  taught  in 
the  mission  school,  and  several  young  men  started  to 
attend,  my  uncle,  Wolf  Chief,  among  them.  They 
went  each  morning  with  hair  newly  braided,  faces 
painted,  and  big  brass  rings  on  their  fingers.  Most 
of  them  found  school  work  rather  hard,  and  soon 
tired  of  it. 

The  next  fall,  my  parents  started  me  to  school,  for 
my  father  wanted  me  to  learn  English.  The  mission 
house  was  a  half  mile  from  our  village;  I  went  each 
morning  with  a  little  Mandan  companion,  named 
Hollis  Montclair,  We  wore  Indian  dress,  leggings, 
moccasins,  and  leather  shirt. 


SCHOOL  DAYS  45 

At  noon  Hollis  and  I  would  return  to  the  village  for 
our  noon  meal;  and  sometimes  we  would  go  to  school 
again  in  the  afternoon.  We  went  pretty  faithfully 
all  the  fall,  and  until  Christmas  time,  when  our  teacher 
told  us  we  were  to  have  a  Christmas  tree. 

Hollis  and  I  had  never  seen  a  Christmas  tree;  and 
when  Christmas  day  came,  we  could  hardly  wait  until 
the  time  came  for  us  to  go  to  the  school  house.  It  was 
a  cheerful  scene  then,  that  met  our  eyes.  The  tree  was 
a  cedar  cut  on  the  Missouri  bottoms,  lighted,  and 
trimmed  with  strips  of  bright  colored  paper.  Mr. 
Hall  and  his  family  sat  at  the  front,  smiling.  My  teacher 
moved  about  among  the  children,  greeting  each  as  he 
arrived,  and  speaking  a  kind  word  to  those  that  were 
shy.  About  fifteen  school  children  of  the  age  of  Hollis 
and  myself  were  present. 

We  had  music  and  singing,  and  Mr.  Hall  explained 
what  Christmas  means,  that  it  is  the  birthday  of  Jesus, 
the  Son  of  God;  and  that  we  should  be  happy  because 
He  loved  us.  Presents  were  then  given  us;  each  child 
was  called  by  name,  and  handed  a  little  gift  taken 
from  the  tree. 

And  now  I  grieve  to  say,  that  Hollis  and  I  acted  as 
badly  as  two  white  children.  There  was  a  magnet 
hanging  on  the  tree,  a  piece  of  steel  shaped  like  a  horse 
shoe,  that  picked  up  bits  of  iron.  Hollis  and  I  thought 
it  the  most  wonderful  thing  we  had  ever  seen.  We 
each  hoped  to  receive  it;  but  it  was  given  to  another 
child.  This  vexed  us;  and  we  left  upon  the  floor  the 
gifts  we  had  received,  and  stalked  out  of  the  room. 
The  last  thing  I  saw  as  I  went  out  of  the  door  was  my 
teacher  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  I  did  not 
feel  happy  when  I  thought  of  this;  but  I  was  an  Indian 


46  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

boy,  and  I  was  not  going  to  forgive  her  for  not  giving 
me  the  magnet! 

I  told  the  story  of  the  magnet  to  my  parents;  and 
finding  I  was  unwilling  to  go  back  to  the  mission,  they 
sent  me  to  the  government  school  that  our  agent  had 
just  opened;  but  I  did  not  go  there  long.  I  was  taken 
sick,  and  my  former  teacher  came  to  see  me  in  our 
earth  lodge.  She  was  so  kind  and  forgiving  that  I 
forgot  all  about  the  magnet,  and  when  I  got  well  I  went 
back  to  the  mission  school. 

I  grew  to  love  my  teacher,  although  I  was  always  a 
little  afraid  of  her.  We  boys  were  not  allowed  to  talk 
in  study  hours;  but  when  our  teacher's  back  was  turned, 
we  would  whisper  to  one  another.  Sometimes  our 
teacher  turned  quickly,  and  if  she  caught  any  of  us 
whispering,  she  would  come  and  give  each  of  us  a  spat 
on  the  head  with  a  book;  but  it  did  not  hurt  much,  so 
we  did  not  care. 

We  used  to  sing  a  good  deal  in  the  school.  One  song 
I  liked  was,  "  I  need  Thee  every  hour."  I  loved  to 
sing,  although  the  songs  we  learned  were  very  dif- 
ferent from  our  Indian  songs.  Indians  are  fond  of 
music;  I  have  known  my  grandfather  and  three  or  four 
cronies  to  sit  at  our  lodge  fire  an  entire  night,  drumming 
and  singing,  and  telling  stories. 

I  found  English  a  rather  hard  language  to  learn. 
Many  of  the  older  Indians  would  laugh  at  any  who 
tried  to  learn  to  read.  "  You  want  to  forsake  your 
Indian  ways  and  be  white  men,"  they  would  say;  but 
there  were  many  in  the  village  who  wanted  their  chil- 
dren to  learn  English. 

My  grandfather  was  deeply  interested  in  my  studies. 
"  It  is  their  books  that  make  white  men  strong,"Jie 


SCHOOL  DAYS  47 

would  say.  "  The  buffaloes  will  soon  be  killed;  and  we 
Indians  must  learn  white  ways,  or  starve."  He  was  a 
progressive  old  man. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  played  hookey  sometimes. 
Big  dances  were  often  held  in  the  village;  especially, 
when  a  war  party  came  in  with  a  scalp,  there  was  great 
excitement.  The  scalp  was  raised  aloft  on  a  pole,  and 
the  women  danced  about  it,  screaming,  and  singing 
glad  songs.  Warriors  painted  their  faces  with  charcoal, 
and  danced,  sang,  yelled,  and  boasted  of  their  deeds. 
Everybody  feasted  and  made  merry. 

When  I  knew  that  a  dance  was  going  to  be  held,  I 
would  hide  somewhere  in  the  village,  instead  of  going 
to  school.  The  next  day  my  teacher  would  say, 
"  Where  were  you  yesterday?"  "At  the  dance,"  I  would 
answer.  She  would  then  tell  me  how  naughty  I  was; 
but  she  never  punished  me,  for  she  knew  if  she  did, 
I  would  leave  the  school.  My  parents  also  scolded, 
but  did  not  punish  me.  I  am  afraid  I  was  a  bad  little 
boy! 

One  day,  on  my  way  to  school,  I  was  overtaken  by 
a  very  old  white  man,  with  white  hair.  I  had  been 
going  to  school  about  a  year  and  could  talk  a  little 
English. 

"  What  is  your  name,  little  fellow?  "  the  old  man 
asked.  He  had  a  friendly  voice. 

"  My  name  is  Goodbird,"  I  answered. 

"  But  what  is  your  English  name?  " 

"  I  have  none." 

"  Then  I  will  give  you  mine,"  the  old  man  said, 
smiling.  "  It  is  Edward  Moore." 

It  is  a  common  custom  for  an  Indian  to  give  his  name 
to  a  friend;  so  I  did  not  know  the  old  man's  words  were 


48  GOODBIRD   THE  INDIAN 

said  in  fun.  At  the  school,  I  told  Mr.  Hall  what  the 
old  man  had  said,  and  he  laughed.  "  I  think  Moore 
is  not  a  good  name  for  you/'  he  said.  "  Moore  sounds 
like  moor,  a  marshy  place  where  mists  rise  in  the  air, 
but  Edward  is  a  very  good  name." 

So  I  have  called  myself  Edward  Goodbird  ever  since. 

Every  Friday  Mr.  Hall  gave  a  dinner  in  the  mission 
house  to  his  pupils.  We  Indian  children  thought 
these  dinners  wonderful.  Many  of  us  had  never  tasted 
white  men's  food;  some  things,  as  sour  pickles,  we  did 
not  like.  Mr.  Hall  wanted  us  to  learn  to  eat  white 
bread  and  biscuits,  so  that  we  would  ask  our  mothers 
to  bake  bread  at  home.  He  hoped  this  would  be  a 
means  of  getting  us  to  like  white  men's  ways. 

On  Saturdays  we  had  no  school,  and  Mr.  Hall  would 
go  around  the  village,  shaking  hands  with  the  Indians 
and  inviting  them  to  come  to  church  the  next  morning. 
Later,  Poor  Wolf  acted  as  his  crier,  and  on  Saturday 
evenings  he  would  go  around,  calling  out,  "  Ho  Washte, 
Ho  Washte!  Come  you  people,  to-morrow,  and  sit  for 
him  ! "  He  meant  for  them  to  come  to  church  the 
next  morning  and  sit  in  chairs. 

Mr.  Hall's  janitor,  a  young  Indian  named  Bear's 
Teeth,  swept  out  the  mission  house,  made  the  fires,  and 
got  the  school  room  ready  for  the  services.  There  was 
no  bell  on  the  mission,  so  a  flag  was  run  up  as  a  signal 
for  the  congregation  to  gather. 

Not  many  came  to  the  services,  fifteen  or  twenty 
were  a  usual  congregation,  sometimes  only  ten.  Mr. 
Hall  preached,  and  to  make  his  sermons  plainer,  he 
often  drew  pictures  on  the  blackboard. 

My  father  thought  the  missionary's  religion  was  good, 
but  would  not  himself  forsake  the  old  ways.  "  The  old 


SCHOOL  DAYS  49 

gods  are  best  for  me,"  he  used  to  say,  but  he  let  me  go 
to  hear  Mr.  Hall  preach.  I  cannot  say  that  I  always 
understood  the  sermon.  Sometimes  Mr.  Hall  would 
say,  "  Thirty  years  ago,  my  friends,  I  saw  the  light! " 
I  thought  he  meant  he  had  seen  a  vision. 

But  I  learned  a  good  deal  from  Mr.  Hall's  preaching; 
and  my  lessons  and  the  songs  I  learned  at  school  made 
me  think  of  Jesus;  but  I  thought  an  Indian  could  be  a 
Christian  and  also  believe  in  the  old  ways. 

It  came  over  me  one  day,  that  this  could  not  be. 
A  story  of  our  Indian  god,  It-si-ka-ma-hi-di,  tells  us 
that  the  sun  is  a  man,  with  his  body  painted  red,  like 
fire;  that  the  earth  is  flat,  and  that  the  sky  covers  it 
like  a  bowl  turned  bottom  up;  but  in  my  geography, 
at  school,  I  learned  that  the  earth  is  round. 

In  our  earth  lodge,  that  night,  I  said  to  my  parents, 
"  This  earth  is  round;  the  sun  is  a  burning  ball!  "  My 
cousin  Butterfly  was  disgusted.  "  That  is  white  man's 
talk,"  he  grunted.  "  This  earth  is  flat.  White  men  are 
foolish! "  This  I  would  in  no  wise  admit,  and  I  came 
home  almost  daily  with  some  new  proof  that  the  earth 
was  round. 

As  I  grew  older  and  began  to  read  books,  I  thought 
of  myself  as  a  Christian,  but  more  because  I  went  to  the 
mission  school,  than  because  I  thought  of  Jesus  as  my 
Saviour.  I  loved  to  read  the  stories  of  the  Bible; 
and  Mr.  Hall  taught  me  the  Ten  Commandments.  Some 
of  the  Indian  boys  learned  to  swear,  from  hearing  white 
men;  but  I  never  did,  because  Mr.  Hall  told  me  it  was 
wrong.  I  thought  that  those  who  did  as  the  Bible 
bade,  would  grow  up  to  be  good  men. 

I  had  a  cousin,  three  years  older  than  myself,  in  the 
Santee  Indian  school,  who  had  become  a  Christian. 


GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 


One  day  I  received  a  letter  from  him.  "I  believe  in 
Jesus'  way,"  he  wrote.  "  I  believe  Jesus  is  a  good 
Saviour.  I  have  tried  His  way,  and  I  want  you  to  try 
to  join  in  and  have  Him  for  your  Saviour."  This  letter 
set  me  to  thinking. 

In  these  years,  my  life  outside  the  school  room  was 
wholly  Indian.  We  Hidatsa  children  knew  nothing  of 
base  ball,  or  one  hole  cat,  or  other  white  children's 
games,  but  we  had  many  Indian  games  that  we  played. 
Some  of  these  games  I  think  better  than  those  now 
played  on  our  reservation. 

In  March  and  early  April,  we  boys  played  the  hoop 
game.  A  level  place,  bare  of  snow,  was  found,  and  the 
boys  divided  into  two  sides,  about  thirty  yards  apart. 
Small  hoops,  covered  with 
a  lacing  of  thongs,  were 
rolled  forward,  and  were 
caught  by  those  of  the 
opposite  side  on  sticks, 
thrust  or  darted  through 
the  lacings.  A  hoop  so 


Hoop  and  Stick  of  the  Hoop  Game. 

caught,  was  sent  hurtling  through  the  air,  the  object 
being  to  hit  some  one  of  the  opposing  players. 

The  game  was  played  but  a  few  weeks,  for  as  soon 
as  the  ice  broke  on  the  Missouri,  we  boys  went  to  the 
high  bank  of  the  river,  and  hurled  our  hoops  into  the 
current.  We  were  told,  and  really  believed,  that  they 


SCHOOL  DAYS 


we    played 


became  dead  buffaloes  as  soon  as  they  had  passed  out 
of  sight,  beyond  the  next  point  of  land.  Such  buffaloes, 
drowned  in  the  thin  ice  of  autumn  and  frozen  in,  came 
floating  down  the  river  in  large  numbers  at  the  spring 
break-up.  The  carcasses  were  always  fat,  and  the 
frozen  flesh  was  sweet  and  tender. 

After  the  first  thunder  in  spring, 
u-a-ki-he-ke,  or  throw  stick.  Willow 
rods  were  cut,  peeled,  and  dried, 
and  then  stained  red,  with  ochre,  or 
a  bright  green,  with  grass.  These 
rods,  darted  against  the  ground, 
rebounded  to  a  great  distance.  The 
player  won  whose  rod  went  far- 
thest. U -a-ki-Jte-ke  is  still  played  on 
the  reservation. 

In  June,  when  the  rising  waters 
have  softened  the  river's  clay  banks, 
we  fought  sham  battles.  Each  boy 
cut  a  willow  withe,  as  long  as  a 
buggy  whip,  and  on  the  smaller  end 
squeezed  a  lump  of  wet  clay.  With 
the  withe  as  a  sling,  he  could  throw 
the  clay  ball  to  an  astonishing 
distance.  Hidatsa  and  Mandan  boys 
often  fought  against  one  another,  using  these  clay 
balls  as  missiles. 

It  was  exciting  play,  for  we  fought  like  armies,  each 
side  trying  to  force  the  other's  position;  when  an  attack 
was  made,  a  storm  of  mud  balls  would  come  whizzing 
through  the  air  like  bullets.  A  hit  on  the  bare  flesh 
stung  like  a  real  wound.  Once  one  of  my  playmates 
was  hit  in  the  eye,  and  badly  hurt.  I  was  just  over 


War  Bonnet 
(On  Lodge  Post). 


52  GOODBIRD   THE  INDIAN 

fourteen,  when  my  parents  let  me  join  in  the  grass 
dance,  or  war  dance,  as  the  whites  call  it.  The  other 
dancers  made  me  an  officer,  and  my  father  was  so 
pleased,  that  he  hung  up  a  fine  eagle's  feather  war 
bonnet  in  our  lodge.  "  If  enemies  come  against  us," 
he  said,  "  my  son  shall  go  out  to  fight  wearing  this 
war  bonnet!" 

One  evening,  Bear's  Arm,  a  lad  of  eighteen  years, 
came  in  from  hunting  a  strayed  pony;  he  was  much 
excited.  "I  saw  two  Sioux  in  war  dress,  hiding  in 
a  coulee,"  he  told  us. 

Our  warriors  ran  for  their  ponies.  "  Put  on  your 
war  bonnet,"  my  father  said  to  me.  "  I  am  going 
to  take  you  in  the  party.  Keep  close  to  me;  and  if 
there  is  a  fight,  see  if  you  cannot  strike  an  enemy!" 

We  rode  all  night,  Bear's  Arm  leading  us.  We 
reached  the  coulee  and  surrounded  it  a  little  before 
daybreak,  and  with  the  first  streak  of  dawn,  we  closed 
in,  our  rifles  ready;  but  we  found  no  enemies. 

This  was  my  one  war  exploit. 


Buffaloes. 


VI 


HUNTING  BUFFALOES 


THE  summer  I  was  twelve  years  old,  our  village 
went  on  a  buffalo  hunt,  for  scouts  had  brought 
in  word  that  herds  had  been  sighted  a  hundred 
miles  west  of  the  Missouri.     My  father,  Son-of-a-Star, 
was  chosen  leader  of  the  hunt. 

My  tribe  no  longer  used  travois,  for  the  government 
had  issued  wagons  to  us.  These  we  took  apart,  loading 
the  wheels  into  bull  boats  while  the  beds  were  floated 
over  the  river.  We  made  our  first  camp  at  the  edge 
of  the  foot  hills,  on  the  other  side  of  the  river. 

The  next  morning,  we  struck  tents,  loaded  them 
into  our  wagons,  and  began  the  march. 

53 


54  GOODBIRD   THE   INDIAN 

My  father  led,  carrying  his  medicine  bundle  at  his 
saddle  head;  behind  him  rode  two  or  three  elder 
Indians,  leaders  of  the  tribe,  also  on  horseback.  Then 
followed  the  wagons  in  a  long  line;  and  on  either  side 
rode  the  young  men,  on  their  tough,  scrubby,  little 
ponies. 

Some  of  our  young  men  as  they  rode,  drove  small 
companies  of  horses.  Neighbors  commonly  put  their 
horses  together,  and  a  young  man,  or  two  or  three 
young  men,  acted  as  herders.  Sometimes  a  girl, 
mounted  astraddle  like  a  man,  drove  them. 

Now  and  then  a  youth  might  be  seen  reining  in  his 
pony  to  let  the  line  of  wagons  pass,  while  he  kept  a 

sharp  watch  for  his  sweet- 
heart. She  hardly  glanced 
at  him  as  she  rode  by,  for  it 
was  not  proper  for  a  young 
man's  sweetheart  to  let  him 
talk  to  her  in  the  march- 
ing line.  The  time  for  court- 
ship was  in  camp,  in  the 
evening. 

Toward  five  or  six  in  the 
Clay  Pot  with  Thong  Handle,    afternoon,    we    made    camp. 

The  wagons  were  drawn  up 

in  a  big  circle,  and  the  women  pitched  the  tents, 
while  the  men  unhitched  and  hobbled  their  horses, 
and  brought  firewood.  The  women  brought  water  and 
lighted  the  fires. 

Water  was  carried  in  pails.  I  have  heard  that  in 
old  times,  they  used  clay  pots  made  of  a  kind  of  red 
clay,  and  burned;  a  thong  went  around  the  neck  of 
the  pot,  for  a  handle. 


HUNTING  BUFFALOES  55 

My  mother,  an  active  woman,  often  had  her  .fire 
started  before  her  neighbors.  While  she  got  supper, 
my  father  sat  and  smoked.  Friends  frequently  joined 
him,  and  they  would  sit  in  a  circle,  passing  the  pipe 
around,  telling  funny  stories  and  laughing.  My  father 
was  a  capital  story  teller. 

For  supper  we  had  deer  or  antelope  meat,  boiled  or 
roasted,  and  my  mother  often  fried  wheat-flour  dough 
into  a  kind  of  biscuits  that  were  rather  hard.  Corn 
picked  green  the  year  before,  and  boiled  and  dried, 
was  stewed  in  a  kettle,  making  a  dish  much  like  the 
canned  corn  we  buy  at  the  store.  More  often  we  had 
succotash,  hominy  boiled  with  fat  and  beans.  We 
drank  black  coffee,  sweetened;  my  mother  put  the  coffee 
beans  into  a  skin,  pounded  them  fine  with  an  ax,  and 
boiled  them  in  an  iron  pot.  You  see,  we  were  getting 
civilized. 

When  supper  was  ready,  my  mother  would  call 
"  Mi-ha-dits — I  have  done!"  and  my  father  would  put 
up  his  pipe  and  come  to  eat.  My  mother  gave  him 
meat,  steaming  hot,  in  a  tin  dish,  and  poured  coffee 
into  a  cup;  another  cup  held  meat  broth,  which  made  a 
good  drink  also.  We  did  not  bring  wooden  feast  bowls 
with  us,  as  some  families  did. 

My  mother  and  I  ate  with  my  father,  much  as  white 
families  do;  a  robe  or  blanket  was  spread  for  each  to 
sit  upon. 

I  wore  moccasins  and  leggings;  and  my  hair  was 
braided,  Indian  fashion,  in  two  tails  over  my  shoulders, 
but  my  mother  had  made  me  a  white  man's  vest,  of 
black  cloth,  embroidered  all  over  with  elk  teeth.  I 
was  proud  of  this  vest,  and  cared  not  a  whit  that  I  had 
no  coat  to  wear  over  it. 


56  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

The  seventh  day  out,  we  made  camp  near  the  Cannon 
Ball  River.  My  father  had  sent  two  mounted  scouts 
ahead,  with  a  spy  glass,  to  see  if  they  could  find  the 
herds;  at  evening,  they  returned  with  the  report, 
"  There  is  a  big  herd  yonder!"  Everybody  got  ready  for 
the  hunt  the  next  morning,  and  my  father 
made  me  happy  by  telling  me  that  I  might 
go  along. 

We  arose  early.  My  father  saddled  two 
ponies,  one  of  them  a  pack  animal;  and  I 
mounted  a  third,  with  a  white  man's  saddle. 
My  father's  were  pack  saddles,  of  elk  horn, 
covered  with  raw  hide;  ropes,  looped  up  like 
a  figure  8,  were  tied  behind  them  to  be  used 
in  binding  the  packs  of  meat  we  woulol  bring 
home  from  the  hunt. 

There  were  about  forty  hunters  in  our  party, 
mounted,  and  leading  each  a  pack  horse;  eight 
boys,  of  twelve  or   fifteen   years   of   age,  and 
three   old   men.     I  remember  one   of  the  old 
men  carried  a  bow  and  arrows,  probably  from 
old  custom.     Only  the  hunters  expected  to  take 
part   in    the   actual    chase    of    the    buffaloes; 
they  were  armed  with  rifles. 
Quirt         The    party's  leader,   E-di-a-ka-ta — the  same 
(Indian   W^Q  je(j  our   ^rj^e   £O    the    Yellowstone — rode 
ahead,  and  we  followed  at  a  brisk  trot.     Five 
miles  out  of  camp,  the  two  scouts  were  again  sent  ahead 
with   the  spy  glass.    We  saw  them  coming  back  at  a 
gallop    and   knew  that   the   herd  was  found,  and  we 
urged    our   horses    at    the    top    of    their    speed.      I 
remember    the    slap    of     the    quirts    on    the    little 
ponies'  flanks;    and    the    beat-beat,   beat-beat!  of   their 


HUNTING  BUFFALOES  57 

hoofs  on  the  hard  ground.  Indians  do  not  shoe  their 
horses. 

We  drew  rein  behind  a  hill,  a  half  mile  to  leeward 
of  the  herd,  and,  having  dismounted,  hobbled  our  led 
horses.  Our  hunters  laid  aside  their  shirts  and  leggings, 
stripped  the  saddles  from  their  ponies'  backs,  and 
twisted  bridles  of  thong  into  their  pomes'  mouths;  it 
was  our  tribe's  custom  to  ride  bare-back  in  the  hunt. 

E-di-a-ka-ta  went  a  little  way  off  and  stood,  facing 
in  the  direction  of  the  herd;  from  a  piece  of  red  cloth 
he  tore  a  long  strip,  ripped  this  again  into  three  or 
four  pieces  and  laid  them  on  the  ground.  I  saw  his 
lips  move,  and  knew  he  was  praying,  but  I  could  not 
hear  his  words.  The  pieces  of  red  cloth  were  an  offer- 
ing to  the  spirits  of  the  buffaloes. 

Our  hunters  remounted  and  drew  up  in  a  line  facing 
the  herd,  E-di-a-ka-ta  on  the  right,  and  at  a  signal, 
the  line  started  forward,  neck-and-neck,  at  a  brisk  gallop. 
A  guard,  named  Tsa-wa,  or  Bear's  Chief,  rode  in  advance; 
if  a  hunter  pressed  too  far  forward  in  the  line,  Tsa-wa 
struck  the  hunter's  pony  in  the  face  with  his  quirt. 

We  boys  and  the  three  old  men  rode  a  little  behind 
the  line  of  hunters;  we  did  not  expect  to  take  part 
in  the  hunt,  but  wanted  to  see  the  kill. 

As  we  cleared  the  brow  of  the  hill  we  sighted  the 
buffaloes,  about  four  hundred  yards  away,  and 
E-di-a-ka-ta  gave  the  signal,  "  Ku'kats — Now  then!" 
Down  came  the  quirts  on  the  little  pomes'  flanks, 
making  them  leap  forward  like  big  cats.  The  line 
broke  at  once,  each  hunter  striving  to  reach  the  herd 
first  and  kill  the  fattest.  An  iron-gray  horse,  I  remem- 
ber, was  in  the  lead. 

We  boys    followed    at  breakneck    speed — unwilling- 


58  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

ly  on  my  part;  my  pony  had  taken  the  bit  in  his 
mouth  and  was  going  over  the  stony  ground  at  a  speed 
that  I  feared  would  throw  him  any  moment  and  break 
his  neck  and  mine.  I  tugged  at  the  reins  and  clung 
to  the  saddle,  too  scared  to  cry  out. 

Bang!  A  fat  cow  tumbled  over.  Bang!  Bang!  Bang! 
Bang!  The  frightened  herd  started  to  flee,  swerved  to 
the  right,  and  went  thundering  away  up  wind,  in  a 
whirl  of  dust.  Buffaloes,  when  alarmed,  fly  up  wind 
if  the  way  is  open;  their  sight  is  poor,  but  they  have 
a  keen  scent,  and  running  up  wind  they  can  nose  an 
Indian  a  half  mile  away. 

For  such  heavy  beasts,  buffaloes  have  amazing  speed, 
and  only  our  fastest  horses  were  used  in  hunting  them; 
indeed,  a  young  bull  often  outran  our  fastest  ponies. 

Only  cows  were  killed.  The  flesh  of  bulls  is  tough 
and  was  not  often  eaten;  that  of  calves  crumbled  when 
dried,  making  it  unfit  for  storing. 

Some  buffalo  calves,  forsaken  by  the  herd,  were 
running  wildly  over  the  prairie,  bleating  for  their 
mothers;  two  of  our  hunters  caught  one  of  the  smallest 
with  a  lariat,  and  brought  it  to  me.  "  Here,  boy," 
they  said,  "  keep  this  calf." 

I  caught  the  rope  and  drew  the  calf  after  me;  but 
my  pony,  growing  frightened,  reared  and  kicked  the 
little  animal;  paying  out  more  rope,  I  led  the  calf  at  a 
safer  distance  from  my  horse's  heels. 

The  hunters  came  straggling  back,  and  my  father 
seeing  the  calf,  cried  out,  "  Let  that  calf  go!  Buffaloes 
are  sacred  animals.  You  should  not  try  to  keep  one 
captive!"  I  was  much  disappointed,  for  I  wanted  to 
take  it  into  camp. 

My  father  had  killed  three  fat  cows,  and  these  he 


HUNTING  BUFFALOES 


59 


now  sought  out  and  dressed.  The  shoulders,  hams,  and 
choicer  cuts  he  loaded  on  our  led  horse,  covering  the 
pack  with  a  green  hide  and  tying  it  down  with  the  raw- 
hide ropes  brought  for  the  purpose;  the  rest  he  left 
in  a  pile  on  the  prairie,  covered  with  the  other  two 
hides.  We  intended  to  return  for 
these  with  wagons,  the  next  day. 

As  my  father  was  cutting  up  one 
of  the  carcasses,  I  saw  him  throw 
away  what  I  thought  were  good 


Drying  Meat  and  Boiling  Bones. 


cuts;  I  did  not  like  to  see  good  meat  wasted,  and 
when  I  thought  he  was  not  looking,  I  slyly  put  the 
pieces  back  on  the  pile. 

We  returned  to  camp  slowly,  at  times  urging  our 
ponies  to  a  gentle  trot,  more  often  letting  them  walk. 
My  father  had  to  dismount  several  times  to  secure  our 
pack  of  meat,  which  threatened  to  slip  from  our  pack 
horse's  back.  In  our  tent  that  evening,  I  heard  him 


60  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

telling  my  mother  of  my  part  in  the  hunt.  "  Our  son," 
he  said,  "  is  no  wasteful  lad.  He  put  back  some  tough 
leg  pieces  that  I  had  thrown  away.  He  would  not  see 
good  meat  wasted!"  And  they  both  laughed. 

Stages  were  built  in  the  camp,  and  for  two  days, 
every  body  was  busy  drying  meat  or  boiling  bones  for 
marrow  fat.  The  dried  meat  was  packed  in  skin  bags, 
or  made  into  bundles;  the  marrow  fat  was  run  into 
bladders;  and  all  was  taken  to  Like-a-fish-hook  village, 
to  be  stored  for  winter. 


Goodbird  at  the  Age  of  Twenty.     (Redrawn  from  Portrait  by  Gilbert 
Saul.    Report  Indian  Census,  1890.) 


VII 


FARMING 

THE  time  came  when  we  had  to  forsake  our  village 
at  Like-a-fish-hook  Bend,  for  the  government 
wanted  the  Indians  to  become  farmers.     "  You 
should  take  allotments,"  our  agent  would  say.     "  The 
big  game  is  being  killed  off,  and  you  must  plant  bigger 
fields  or  starve.     The  government  will  give  you  plows 
and  cattle." 

All  knew  that  the  agent's  words  were  true,  and  little 
by  little  our  village  was  broken  up.  In  the  summer 
of  my  sixteenth  year  nearly  a  third  of  my  tribe  left  to 
take  up  allotments. 

We  had  plenty  of  land ;  our  reservation  was  twice  the 
size  of  Rhode  Island,  and  our  united  tribes,  with  the 
Rees  who  joined  us,  were  less  than  thirteen  hundred 

61 


62  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

souls.  Most  of  the  Indians  chose  allotments  along 
the  Missouri,  where  the  soil  was  good  and  drinking  water 
easy  to  get.  Unallotted  lands  were  to  be  sold  and  the 
money  given  to  the  three  tribes. 

Forty  miles  above  our  village,  the  Missouri  makes 
a  wide  bend  around  a  point  called  Independence  Hill, 
and  here  my  father  and  several  of  his  relatives  chose 
their  allotments.  The  bend  enclosed  a  wide  strip  of 
meadow  land,  offering  hay  for  our  horses.  The  soil 
along  the  river  was  rich  and  in  the  bottom  stood  a  thick 
growth  of  timber. 

My  father  left  the  village,  with  my  mother  and  me, 
in  June.  He  had  a  wagon,  given  him  by  the  agent; 
this  he  unbolted  and  took  over  the  river  piece  by  piece, 
in  a  bull  boat;  our  horses  swam. 

We  camped  at  Independence  in  a  tepee,  while  we 
busied  ourselves  building  a  cabin.  My  father  cut  the 
logs;  they  were  notched  at  the  ends,  to  lock  hi  to  one 
another  at  the  corners.  A  heavier  log,  a  foot  in  thick- 
ness, made  the  ridge  pole.  The  roof  was  of  willows 
and  grass,  covered  with  sods. 

Cracks  between  the  logs  were  plastered  with  clay, 
mixed  with  short  grass.  The  floor  was  of  earth,  but  we 
had  a  stove. 

We  were  a  month  putting  up  our  cabin. 

Though  my  father's  coming  to  Independence  was  a 
step  toward  civilization,  it  had  one  ill  effect:  it  removed 
me  from  the  good  influences  of  the  mission  school,  so 
that  for  a  time  I  fell  back  into  Indian  ways.  Winter, 
also,  was  not  far  off;  the  season  was  too  late  for  us  to 
plant  corn,  and  the  rations  issued  to  us  every  two  weeks 
rarely  lasted  more  than  two  or  three  days.  To  keep 
our  family  in  meat,  I  turned  hunter. 


FARMING  63 

There  were  no  buffaloes  on  the  reservation,  but  black- 
tailed  deer  were  plentiful,  and  in  the  hills  were  a  good 
many  antelopes.  I  had  a  Winchester  rifle,  a  40.60 
caliber,  and  I  was  a  good  shot. 

To  hunt  deer,  I  arose  before  daylight  and  went  to 
the  woods  along  the  Missouri.  Deer  feed  much  at 
night,  and  as  evening  came  on,  they  would  leave  the 
thick  underbrush  by  the  river  and  go  into  the  hills 
to  browse  on  the  rich  prairie  grasses.  I  would  creep 
along  the  edge  of  the  woods,  rifle  in  hand,  ready  to 
shoot  any  that  I  saw  coming  in  from  the  feeding  grounds. 

I  was  careful  to  keep  on  the  leeward  side  of  the  game; 
a  deer  running  up  wind  will  scent  an  Indian  as  quickly 
as  a  buffalo. 

I  loved  to  hunt,  and  although  a  mere  boy,  I  was  one 
of  the  quickest  shots  in  my  tribe.  I  remember  that 
one  morning  I  was  coming  around  a  clump  of  bushes 
when  I  saw  a  doe  and  buck  ahead,  just  entering  the 
thicket.  I  fired,  hardly  glancing  at  the  sights;  I  saw 
the  buck  fall,  but  when  I  ran  up  I  found  the  doe  lying 
beside  him,  killed  by  the  same  bullet. 

Independence  was  a  wild  spot.  The  hill  from  which 
the  place  took  its  name  had  been  a  favorite  fasting  place 
for  young  men  who  sought  visions;  at  its  foot,  under 
a  steep  bank,  swept  the  Missouri,  full  of  dangerous 
whirlpools.  Such  spots,  lonely  and  wild,  we  Indians 
thought  were  haunts  of  the  spirits. 

Once,  when  I  was  a  small  boy,  my  father  took  me  to 
see  the  Sun  dance.  A  man  named  Turtle-no-head 
was  suspended  from  a  post  in  a  booth,  and  dancing 
around  it.  Turtle-no-head's  hands  were  behind  him, 
and  he  strained  at  the  rope  as  he  danced.  Women 
were  crying,  "  A -la-la-la-la-la!  "  Old  men  were  calling 


64  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

out,  "  Good;  Turtle-no-head  is  a  man.  One  should  be 
willing  to  suffer  to  find  his  god ;  then  he  will  strike  many 
enemies  and  win  honors!];" 

I  was  much  stirred  by  what  I  saw,  and  by  the  old 
men's  words. 

"  Father,"  I  said,  "  when  I  get  big,  I  am  going  to 
suffer  and  seek  a  vision,  like  Turtle-no-head!  " 

"  Good!  "  said  my  father,  laughing. 

At  Independence,  I  thought  of  this  vow  made  years 
before.  One  day,  I  said  to  my  father,  "  I  want  you  to 
suspend  me  from  the  high  bank,  over  the  Missouri." 

When  evening  came,  my  father  stripped  me  to  my 
clout  and  moccasins,  and  helped  me  paint  my  body 
with  white  clay.  He  called  a  man  named  Crow,  and 
they  took  me  to  the  bank,  over  the  Missouri.  My 
father  fastened  me  to  the  rope,  and  I  swung  myself 
over  the  bank,  hanging  with  my  weight  upon  the  rope. 
"  Suffer  as  long  as  you  can!  "  called  my  father,  and 
left  me. 

I  did  not  feel  much  pain,  but  I  became  greatly 
wearied  from  the  strain  upon  my  back  and  thighs. 
Toward  morning  I  could  stand  it  no  longer.  I  drew 
myself  up  on  the  bank,  and  went  home  and  to  bed;  and 
I  slept  so  soundly  that  no  dream  came  from  the  spirits. 

A  year  later,  I  again  sought  a  vision.  This  time 
my  father  took  me  to  a  high  hill,  a  mile  or  two  from  the 
river.  He  drove  a  post  into  the  ground,  fastened  me 
to  it,  as  before,  and  left  me,  just  at  nightfall. 

I  threw  myself  back  upon  the  rope  and  danced  around 
the  post,  hoping  to  fall  into  a  swoon  and  see  a  vision. 

It  was  autumn,  and  a  light  snow  was  falling;  the  cold 
flakes  on  my  bare  shoulders  made  me  shiver  till  my 
teeth  chattered.  The  night  was  black  as  pitch.  A 


FARMING  65 

coyote  howled.  I  was  so  lonely  that  I  wished  a  ghost 
would  sit  on  the  post  and  talk  with  me,  though  I  was 
dreadfully  afraid  of  ghosts,  especially  at  night.  I  grew 
so  cold  that  my  knees  knocked  together. 

About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  untied  the  rope 
and  went  home.  For  an  hour  I  felt  sick,  but  I  soon 
fell  into  a  sleep,  again  dreamless. 

I  was  eating  my  breakfast  when  my  father  came  in. 
"  I  have  seen  no  vision,  father,"  I  told  him;  he  said 
nothing. 

The  next  year  the  government  forbade  the  Indians 
to  torture  themselves  when  they  fasted.  My  father 
was  quite  vexed.  "  The  government  does  wrong  to 
forbid  us  to  suffer  for  our  gods!  "  he  said.  But  I  was 
rather  glad.  "  The  Indian's  way  is  hard,"  I  thought. 
"  The  white  man's  road  is  easier!  "  And  I  thought 
again  of  the  mission  school. 

Other  things  drew  my  thoughts  to  civilized  ways. 
Our  agent  issued  to  every  Indian  family  having  an  allot- 
ment, a  plow,  and  wheat,  flax,  and  oats,  for  seeding. 
My  father  and  I  broke  land  near  our  cabin,  and  in  the 
spring  seeded  it  down. 

We  had  a  fair  harvest  in  the  fall.  Threshing  was 
done  on  the  agency  machine,  and,  having  sacked  our 
grain,  my  father  and  I  hauled  it,  in  four  trips,  to  Hebron, 
eighty  miles  away.  Our  flax  we  sold  for  seventy-five 
cents,  our  wheat  for  sixty  cents,  and  our  oats  for  twenty- 
five  cents  a  bushel.  Our  four  loads  brought  us  about 
eighty  dollars. 

I  became  greatly  interested  in  farming.  There  was 
good  soil  on  our  allotment  along  the  river,  although 
our  fields  sometimes  suffered  from  drought;  away  from 
the  river,  much  of  our  land  was  stony,  fit  only  for  grazing. 


66  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

My  parents  had  been  at  Independence  eight  years, 
when  one  day  the  agent  sent  for  me.  I  went  to  his 
office. 

"  I  hear  you  have  become  a  good  farmer,"  he  said, 
as  I  came  in.  "I  want  to  appoint  you  assistant  to  our 
agency  farmer.  Your  district  will  include  all  allotments 
west  of  the  Missouri  between  the  little  Missouri  and 
Independence.  I  will  pay  you  three  hundred  dollars 
a  year.  Will  you  accept?  " 

"  I  will  try  what  I  can  do,"  I  answered. 

"Good,"  said  the  Major.  "Now  for  your  orders! 
You  are  to  measure  off  for  every  able-bodied  Indian, 
ten  acres  of  ground  to  be  plowed  and  seeded.  If  an 
Indian  is  lazy  and  will  not  attend  to  his  plowing,  report 
him  to  me  and  I  will  send  a  policeman.  In  the  fall, 
you  are  to  see  that  every  family  puts  up  two  tons  of 
hay  for  each  horse  or  steer  owned  by  it." 

I  did  not  know  what  an  acre  was.  "  It  is  a  piece  of 
ground,"  the  agent  explained,  "  ten  rods  wide  and 
sixteen  rods  long."  From  this  I  was  able  to  compute 
pretty  well  how  much  ten  acres  should  be;  but  I  am 
not  sure  that  all  the  plots  I  measured  were  of  the  same 
size. 

I  began  my  new  duties  at  once,  and  at  every  cabin 
in  my  district,  I  measured  off  a  ten-acre  plot  and 
explained  the  agent's  orders.  Not  a  few  of  the  Indians 
had  done  some  plowing  at  Like-a-fish-hook  village, 
and  all  were  willing  to  learn.  Once  a  month,  I  took 
a  blacksmith  around  to  inspect  the  Indians'  plows. 

Rains  were  abundant  that  summer,  and  the  Indians 
had  a  good  crop.  Some  families  harvested  a  hundred 
bushels  of  wheat  from  a  ten-acre  field;  others,  seventy- 
five  bushels;  and  some  had  also  planted  oats. 


FARMING  67 

The  government  began  to  issue  cattle  in  payment  of 
lands  sold  for  us.  The  first  issue  was  one  cow  to  each 
family,  and  the  agent  ordered  me  to  see  that  every 
family  built  a  barn. 

These  barns  were  put  up  without  planks  or  nails. 
A  description  of  my  own  will  show  what  they  were  like; 
it  rested  on  a  frame  of  four  forked  posts,  with  stringers 
laid  in  the  forks;  puncheons,  or  split  logs,  were  leaned 
against  the  stringers  for  walls;  rough-cut  rafters  sup- 
ported a  roofing  of  willows  and  dry  grass,  earthed  over 
with  sods. 

More  cattle  were  issued  to  us  until  we  had  a  consider- 
able herd  at  Independence.  The  cattle  were  let  run 
at  large,  but  each  steer  or  cow  was  branded  by  its 
owner.  Calves  ran  with  their  mothers  until  fall;  the 
herd  was  then  corralled  and  each  calf  was  branded 
with  its  mother's  brand.  My  own  brand  was  the 
letters  SU  on  the  right  shoulder. 

Herders  guarded  our  cattle  during  the  calving  season; 
we  paid  them  ten  cents  for  every  head  of  stock  herded 
through  the  summer  months. 

I  had  been  assistant  farmer  six  years  and  our  herd 
had  grown  to  about  four  hundred  head,  when  Bird 
Bear  and  Skunk,  our  two  herders,  reported  that  some 
of  our  cattle  had  strayed.  "  We  have  searched  the 
coulees  and  thickets,  but  cannot  find  them,"  they  said. 
Branding  time  came;  we  corralled  the  herd  and  found 
about  fifty  head  missing. 

We  now  suspected  that  our  cattle  had  been  stolen. 
Cattle  thieves,  we  knew,  were  in  the  country;  they  had 
broken  into  a  corral  one  night,  on  a  ranch  not  far  from 
Independence  and  killed  a  cowboy  named  Long  John. 

Winter  had  passed,  when  the  agent  called  me  one  day 


68  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

into  his  office.  "  Goodbird,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to 
take  out  a  party  of  our  agency  police  and  find  those 
thieves  who  stole  your  cattle.  Start  at  once!  " 

I  got  my  party  together,  eight  in  all;  Hollis  Mont- 
clair,  my  boyhood  chum;  Frank  White  Calf,  Crow  Bull, 
Sam  Jones,  White  Owl,  Little  Wolf,  No  Bear,  and 
myself.  Only  Hollis  and  I  spoke  English. 

We  started  toward  the  Little  Missouri,  where  we  sus- 
pected the  thieves  might  be  found.  I  drove  a  wagon  with 
our  provisions  and  tent;  my  men  were  mounted.  We 
reached  the  Little  Missouri  before  nightfall,  and  camped. 

The  next  morning,  we 
turned  westward ;  before 
noon,wecrossed  a  prairie 
dog    village,    and    shot 
three  or  four  prairie  dogs 
for    dinner.       The   hair   was 
singed    off    the  carcasses,  and 
they  were  drawn,  and  spitted 
on  sticks  over  the  fire.    Prairie 
dogs  are  not  bad  eating,  especially 
in  the  open  air, by  a  good  wood  fire; 
I  have  never  become  so  civilized 
that  I  would  not  rather  eat  out  of  doors. 

Toward  evening  we  met  a  cowboy.  "How!"  I 
called,  as  I  drew  in  my  team.  "  Have  you  seen  any 
stray  cattle,  with  Indian  brands,  ID,  7  bar,  7,  or  the 
like?"  And  I  told  him  of  our  missing  cattle. 

"  I  know  where  they  are,"  said  the  cowboy.  "  You 
will  find  them  on  a  ranch  near  Stroud's  post-office; 
but  don't  tell  who  told  you!" 

"  Have  no  fear,"  I  answered. 

Stroud's  post-office  was  farther  west,  near  the  Mon- 


FARMING  69 

tana  border;  we  reached  it  the  third  or  fourth  day 
out. 

We  made  camp,  and  after  supper,  I  went  in  and 
told  Mr.  Stroud  our  errand. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  your  cattle  are  three  miles  from 
here,  on  a  ranch  owned  by  Frank  Powers;  he  hired  two 
cowboys  to  steal  them  for  him." 

The  next  morning  my  men  and  I  mounted,  and  leav- 
ing our  wagon  at  Stroud's,  started  for  Powers'  ranch. 
I  was  unarmed;  the  others  of  my  party  had  their  rifles. 

We  stopped  at  the  cabin  of  a  man  named  Crockin, 
to  inquire  our  way.  A  white  man  came  in;  after  he 
had  gone  out  again,  I  asked  Crockin,  "  Who  is  that  man?" 

"  He  is  Frank  Powers,"  said  Crockin. 

I  turned  to  my  men  and  said  in  their  own  language, 
"  That  is  the  man  who  stole  our  cattle." 

Little  Wolf  drew  his  cleaning  rod.  "  I  am  going  to 
give  that  bad  white  man  a  beating,"  he  cried  angrily. 

"  You  will  not,"  I  answered.  "  We  will  go  into 
Powers' pasture  and  round  up  his  cattle;  and  I  will  cut 
out  all  that  I  think  are  ours.  If  that  bad  white  man 
comes  out  and  says  evil  words  against  me,  do  nothing. 
If  he  shoots  at  me,  kill  him  quick;  but  do  not  you  shoot 
first!" 

My  men  loaded  their  rifles,  and  about  two  o'clock 
I  led  them  into  the  pasture.  Powers'  cattle  were  all 
bunched  in  a  big  herd;  we  drove  them  to  a  grassy  flat, 
and  I  began  cutting  out  those  that  were  ours. 

Powers  saw  us  and  came  out,  revolver  in  hand,  and 
two  or  three  white  men  joined  him.  He  was  so  angry 
that  he  acted  like  a  mad  man;  he  grew  red  in  the  face, 
talked  loud,  and  swore  big  oaths;  but  he  did  not  shoot, 
for  he  knew  my  men  would  kill  him. 


70  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

I  cut  about  twenty-five  head  out  of  the  herd,  all 
that  I  found  with  altered  brands  on  the  right  shoulder 
or  thigh.  Maybe  I  took  some  of  Powers'  cattle  by 
mistake,  but  I  did  not  care  much. 

Powers  left  us  after  a  while.  My  men  rounded  up 
our  cattle,  and  we  drove  them  back  to  Stroud's  and 
camped. 

After  supper,  I  asked  Mr.  Stroud  to  write  a  letter 
to  our  agent,  telling  him  what  I  had  done.  "  To- 
morrow," I  told  my  men,  "  we  will  set  out  for  home. 
You  drive  our  cattle  back  to  the  reservation  in  short 
stages,  so  that  they  will  not  sicken  with  the  heat.  I 
will  go  ahead  with  Mr.  Stroud's  letter." 

I  set  out  before  sunrise;  at  four  o'clock  I  reached 
Independence,  eighty  miles  away;  and  at  sunset,  I 
was  at  Elbowoods. 

It  was  Decoration  day,  and  the  Indians  were  having 
a  dance.  The  agent  was  sitting  in  his  office  with  the 
inspector,  from  Washington. 

"  I  have  found  our  cattle,"  I  said;  and  I  gave  him 
Mr.  Stroud's  letter. 

He  read  it  and  handed  it  to  the  inspector. 

"  Report  this  matter  to  the  United  States  marshal," 
the  inspector  said  to  him.  "  Tell  him  to  have  Powers 
arrested." 


The  Chapel  at  Independence. 


VIII 
THE  WHITE  MAN'S  WAY 

MY    thirty-fifth    winter — as    we    Indians    count 
years — found  me  still  assistant  farmer;    but 
time  had  brought  many  changes  to  our  reser- 
vation.   Antelope  and  blacktailed   deer  had  gone  the 
way  of  the  buffalo.    A  few  earth  lodges  yet  stood, 
dwellings  of  stern  old  warriors  who  lived  in  the  past; 
but  the  Indian  police  saw  that  every  child  was  in  school 
learning  the  white  man's  way.    A  good  dinner  at  the 
noon  hour  made  most  of  the  children  rather  willing 
scholars. 

The  white  man's  peace  had  stopped  our  wars  with  the 
Sioux;  and  the  young  folks  of  either  tribe  visited, 
and  made  presents  to  one  another.  I  had  visited  the 
Standing  Rock  Sioux,  and  had  learned  to  rather  like 


72  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

them.  Indeed,  I  liked  one  Sioux  girl  so  well  that  I 
married  her.  We  had  a  comfortable  cabin;  my  wife 
was  a  good  cook,  and  my  children  were  in  school. 

Living  so  far  from  the  mission,  it  was  not  possible 
for  me  to  attend  church  services  at  the  mission  house; 
but  Mr.  Hall  came  to  Independence  and  preached  to 
us.  Until  a  school  house  was  built,  he  often  held  his 
meetings  in  my  cabin. 

I  usually  interpreted  for  him.  He  would  speak  in 
English  and  I  would  translate  into  Hidatsa,  which  the 
Mandans  also  understand.  Indians  are  good  linguists; 
not  a  few  young  men  of  my  tribe  speak  as  many  as  four 
or  five  languages. 

I  drew  no  salary  as  interpreter;  but  I  felt  myself 
well  repaid  by  what  I  learned  of  the  Bible.  Interpret- 
ing Mr.  Hall's  sermons  made  them  sink  into  my  heart, 
so  that  I  would  think  of  them  as  I  went  about  my  work. 

As  time  went  on,  there  grew  up  quite  a  company  of 
Christians  at  Independence.  One  of  their  active  leaders 
was  Frank  White  Calf;  and  he  and  Sitting  Crow  called 
a  kind  of  praying  council  at  Two  Chiefs'  cabin.  All 
the  Independence  Christians  came;  and  I  was  invited 
to  meet  them. 

Some  of  the  Indians  prayed;  and  Frank  White  Calf 
asked  me,  "  Goodbird,  why  do  you  not  join  us  in  this 
Christian  way?  Tell  us  your  mind!" 

I  arose  and  spoke:  "  My  friends,  I  learned  of  this 
Christian  way  at  the  mission  school.  It  is  a  good  way. 
You  ask  me  my  thoughts.  I  answer,  I  have  tried  to 
live  like  a  Christian  and  I  love  to  read  my  Bible,  but  I 
have  not  received  baptism;  I  am  now  ready  to  be 
baptized." 

A  few  days  after  this,  Frank  White  Calf  said  'to  me, 


THE  WHITE  MAN'S  WAY  73 

"  Mr.  Hall  wants  you  to  come  to  the  mission  house  and 
be  baptized." 

I  went  the  next  Sunday  with  my  family,  and  was 
received  into  the  church.  My  sons  Charles  and  Alfred 
were  baptized  at  the  same  time. 

In  part,  I  was  influenced  to  become  a  church  member 
by  the  thought  that  it  was  the  white  man's  way.  Our 
Indian  beliefs,  I  felt  sure,  were  doomed;  for  white 
men's  customs  were  becoming  stronger  with  us  each 
year.  "  I  am  traveling  the  new  way,  now !"  I  thought, 
when  I  was  baptized.  "  I  can  never  go  back  to  Indian 
ways  again." 

But  for  some  years,  even  after  I  became  a  church 
member,  I  was  not  a  very  firm  Christian;  and  I  did 
not  keep  God's  commandments  very  well,  because  I 
did  not  believe  all  that  the  missionaries  taught  me. 
I  was  unwilling  to  trust  any  white  man's  words,  until 
I  had  proved  that  they  were  true.  I  did  not  want  to 
take  anything  on  faith. 

Mr.  Hall  made  Independence  a  preaching  station, 
and  put  an  assistant  in  charge;  I  interpreted  for  her. 
Sometimes  Mr.  Hall,  or  his  son,  preached  to  us. 

The  missionary  teacher  let  me  know  each  week  what 
was  to  be  the  next  Sunday's  lesson,  and  she  gave  me 
books  to  read.  Knowing  something  of  her  subject,  I 
was  better  able  to  interpret  for  her.  In  this  way,  also, 
I  learned  more  of  Christ's  teachings;  and  I  learned  how 
to  study  my  Bible. 

This  study  of  the  Bible  influenced  me  a  great  deal; 
and  my  having  to  interpret  made  me  fall  into  the  habit 
of  going  to  church  regularly.  My  interest  in  church 
work  grew. 

In  1903,  the  government  abolished  the  position  of 


74  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

assistant  farmer.  In  October  of  the  following  year, 
Mr.  Hall's  son  said  to  me,  "  We  need  an  assistant 
missionary  at  Independence,  and  my  father  and  I  want 
to  appoint  you.  Come  and  talk  with  my  father  about 
it." 

I  went  to  Elbowoods  and  saw  Mr.  Hall.  "  Edward," 
he  asked,  "  are  you  willing  to  be  our  assistant  mis- 
sionary?" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

I  knew  some  one  must  preach  to  the  Independence 
Indians ;  and  I  thought  I  could  do  this,  because  I  could 
speak  their  language  as  well  as  read  English.  I  felt 
also  that  I  was  closer  to  God  than  I  had  been  when  I 
was  baptized. 

So  I  became  Mr.  Hall's  assistant,  and  have  been  in 
charge  of  the  Independence  station  ever  since.  Every 
Sunday  I  preach  to  the  Indians  in  the  Hidatsa  language. 
My  text  is  the  Sunday-school  lesson  of  the  week,  for 
we  Indians  do  not  care  for  sermons,  such  as  white  men 
hear.  Our  older  men  cannot  read  English,  and  we  do 
not  have  the  Bible  in  our  own  tongue;  we  like  best 
to  hear  the  Sunday-school  lesson  because  it  explains 
the  stories  of  the  Bible,  which  my  people  cannot  read 
for  themselves. 

Things  do  not  always  go  smoothly  in  an  Indian  con- 
gregation. Frictions  and  misunderstandings  arise,  as  I 
have  heard  they  do  in  white  churches;  and  Indians 
sometimes  seek  to  become  church  members  from  un- 
worthy motives.  Our  former  life  makes  us  Indians 
clannish;  members  of  the  same  clan  feel  bound  to  help 
one  another,  and  many  Indians  seem  to  look  upon  the 
church  as  a  kind  of  clan.  Sometimes  a  young  man  will 
say,  "  I  will  be  baptized  and  join  your  church.  Then 


THE  WHITE  MAN'S  WAY  75 

all  the  Christians  will  work  to  make  me  agency  police- 
man!" 

Others,  again,  will  say,  "  I  want  to  join  the  church 
because  I  am  sick;  perhaps  God  will  make  me  well!" 

Some,  with  clearer  faith,  say,  "  I  want  to  become  a 
Christian  because  I  believe  Jesus  will  save  me  to  be  a 
spirit  with  Him."  They  mean  that  they  hope  Jesus 
will  take  them  to  live  with  Him  when  they  die. 

My  uncle,  Wolf  Chief,  says  of  the  Christian  way: 
"  I  traveled  faithfully  the  way  of  the  Indian  gods, 
but  they  never  helped  me.  When  I  was  sick,  I  prayed 
to  them,  but  they  did  not  make  me  well.  I  prayed  to 
them  when  my  children  died;  but  they  did  not  answer 
me.  I  have  but  two  children  left,  and  I  am  going  to 
trust  God  to  keep  these  that  they  do  not  die  like  the 
others.  I  talk  to  God  every  day,  as  I  would  talk  to 
my  father;  and  I  ask  Him  for  everything  I  want.  I 
try  to  do  all  that  He  bids  me  do.  I  hope  that  He  will 
take  my  spirit  to  travel  in  that  new  heaven  about 
which  I  have  learned.  I  cannot  change  now.  I  can 
never  go  back  to  the  old  gods!" 

Wolf  Chief  has  been  a  strong  Christian  for  more  than 
eight  years.  He  has  given  much  to  our  mission  work; 
and  he  is  never  absent  from  Sunday  services. 

Six  years  ago,  we  Christians  at  Independence  became 
dissatisfied  with  our  log  meeting  house,  and  began  to 
talk  of  building  a  chapel,  or  church-house,  as  we  call 
it.  A  council  was  called  hi  Wolf  Chief's  cabin. 

It  was  an  evening  in  December;  all  the  leading 
Christians  of  Independence  came  with  their  wives — 
Wolf  Chief,  Tom  Smith,  Frank  White  Calf,  Mike  Basset, 
Hollis  Montclair,  Sam  Jones,  Louis  Baker,  and  myself. 
Each  woman  brought  something  for  a  feast,  and  we  ate 


76  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

together.  We  had  fried  bread,  tea,  pie,  tomato  soup,  and 
other  good  things. 

When  our  feasting  was  over,  Wolf  Chief  made  a  speech. 
"  We  Christian  Indians,"  he  said,  "  should  have  a  chapel. 
We  should  raise  the  money  to  build  a  house  to  God, 
where  we  can  go  and  worship!" 

Tom  Smith  and  others  spoke,  and  we  called  for 
subscriptions.  Frank  White  Calf's  wife  gave  five 
dollars.  Wolf  Chief's  brother,  Charging  Enemy,  although 
not  a  Christian,  gave  a  pony.  Others  promised,  some 
ten,  some  fifteen,  and  some  twenty-five  dollars. 

I  was  appointed  treasurer  to  make  collections,  and 
get  more  subscriptions.  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Water 
Chief's  dancing  society  and  asked  them  to  give  some- 
thing. The  dancing  Indians  are  pagans;  but  they  gave 
us  a  subscription. 

Mr.  Hall  gave  us  fifty  dollars;  Mr.  Shultis,  our 
school-teacher,  gave  us  ten  dollars;  and  other  white 
friends  gave  us  subscriptions;  but  most  of  the  money 
was  given  by  the  Indians. 

When  we  had  collected  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars, 
we  began  buying  lumber. 

Wolf  Chief  wanted  to  give  us  the  land  for  our  chapel; 
but  the  Indian  commissioner  wrote,  "  No,  you  may  sell 
your  land,  but  you  must  not  give  it  away."  So  we 
bought  the  land  for  a  dollar  an  acre;  but  Wolf  Chief 
gave  the  money  back  to  us,  outwitting  the  commis- 
sioner after  all! 

We  bought  ten  acres.  "  When  white  men  build  a 
house,"  said  Wolf  Chief,  "  they  leave  land  around  it 
for  a  yard.  We  should  be  ashamed  not  to  have  some 
land  around  God's  house!  "  Our  ten-acre  plot  makes 
a  fine  big  church  yard;  at  one  end  is  our  Indian  cemetery. 


THE  WHITE  MAN'S  WAY  77 

Wolf  Chief  also  gave  us  a  colt,  and  much  money,  and 
bought  paint  and  nails. 

We  Indians  think  Wolf  Chief  wealthy.  He  owns 
five  hundred  acres  of  land,  thirty  head  of  cattle,  eight 
horses,  and  pigs  and  chickens;  he  has  a  potato  field 
and  a  corn  field,  and  owns  a  trading  store. 

More  than  fifty  were  present  when  we  dedicated  our 
chapel.  A  minister  from  Minneapolis  preached  the 
sermon,  and  I  interpreted  for  him.  A  young  white 
lady  sang,  and  played  the  organ,  and  my  cousin  played 
a  clarionet.  Our  school  teacher  had  lent  us  his  phono- 
graph, and  it  sang  "  There  are  ninety  and  nine,"  just 
like  a  choir  in  a  city  church.  I  asked  for  subscriptions 
to  clear  off  our  debt,  and  we  raised  eighty-three  dollars 
in  money,  and  Wolf  Chief  gave  us  another  colt.  The 
minister  prayed  God  to  bless  our  chapel,  and  we  went 
home,  all  very  happy. 

Older  Indians,  who  came  from  Like-a-fish-hook 
village,  find  their  life  on  allotments  rather  lonesome. 
Cabins  are  often  two  or  three  miles  apart  and  the  old 
men  cannot  amuse  themselves  with  books,  for  they 
cannot  read.  In  old  times,  Indians  often  met  in  big 
dances;  but  pagan  ceremonies  are  used  in  these  dances, 
and  Mr.  Hall  does  not  like  the  Christian  Indians  to 
go  to  them. 

That  our  Christian  Indians  may  meet  socially  now 
and  then,  we  now  observe  many  white  men's  holidays; 
and  at  such  times,  we  make  our  chapel  the  meeting  place. 
In  August,  we  hold  a  Young  Men's  Christian  Con- 
vention, when  families  come  from  miles  around,  to 
camp  hi  tents  around  the  chapel.  At  Christmas,  we 
have  feasting  and  giving  of  presents;  and  our  chapel 
is  so  crowded  that  many  have  to  stand  without,  and 


78  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

look  through  the  windows.  Of  late  years,  we  have 
also  observed  Decoration  Day  at  Independence. 

Our  camp  last  Decoration  Day  was  ten  or  more  tents, 
with  two  or  three  families  in  a  tent.  We  made  a  booth, 
after  old  custom,  of  leafy  branches  and  small  trees.  In 
this  we  gathered  at  about  ten  o'clock. 

Our  school  teacher  began  our  exercises  with  a  speech 
telling  us  what  Decoration  Day  should  mean  to  us. 
We  sang  "  America,"  and  other  hymns,  and  had  speeches 
by  Indians.  A  committee  had  been  appointed  to  choose 
the  speakers. 

Rabbit  Head  spoke,  "  I  do  not  know  anything  about 
your  way,  but  I  encourage  you!  Go  on,  do  more.  I 
have  nothing  against  your  going  the  Christian  way!" 
Rabbit  Head  is  a  chief  in  the  Grass  dance  society,  and  a 
pagan. 

Wounded  Face  spoke,  "  I  do  not  belong  to  this 
church,  I  am  a  Catholic;  but  I  thus  show  that  I  like 
white  men's  ways!  " 

After  dinner  we  made  ready  to  decorate  our  graves. 
Every  family  having  a  son  buried  in  our  graveyard, 
hired  a  clan  father  to  clean  the  grave  of  weeds  and 
stones;  if  a  daughter,  a  clan  aunt  was  asked.  An  Indian 
calls  the  members  of  his  mother's  clan,  his  brothers  and 
sisters;  members  of  his  father's  clan,  he  calls  his  clan 
fathers  and  aunts. 

At  two  o'clock  we  formed  a  procession  and  marched 
to  the  cemetery.  Two  aged  scouts  led,  High  Eagle  and 
Black  Chest ;  High  Eagle  bore  a  large  American  flag. 
We  marched  by  two's  in  a  long  line,  the  men  first,  then 
the  women  and  children.  Having  marched  around  the 
graveyard,  we  stood  and  sang  some  hymns,  and  I  made 
a  speech; 


79 

"  All  you  relatives  and  friends  of  these  dead,  I  want 
to  make  a  speech  to  you! 

"  It  seems  sad  to  our  hearts  to  come  here,  and  yet  we 
are  glad,  because  we  come  to  remember  our  loved  ones 
at  their  graves;  so  both  gladness  and  sorrow  are  in  our 
hearts. 

"  These  warrior  men,  that  you  see  here,  fought  against 
our  enemies.  They  fought  to  save  us,  so  that  to-day 
we  are  not  captive,  but  free.  Some  of  the  brave  men 
who  fought  to  save  us,  died  in  battle.  Also,  some  of 
your  loved  ones  have  died  and  are  buried  in  this  grave- 
yard. Many  of  these  loved  ones  did  not  die  fighting 
against  enemies,  yet  they  were  brave  warriors  against 
evil  and  temptation.  Now  they  are  gone  from  us. 
They  are  in  a  new  world,  the  ghost  land;  they  are 
with  God.  I  am  sure  they  are  in  a  safe,  happy 
place. 

"  Now  come  forward,  all  who  want  to  put  flowers  on 
the  graves." 

We  had  had  a  cold,  dry  spring,  and  the  prairie  flowers 
had  not  come  into  bloom,  but  we  had  sent  to  Plaza 
and  bought  artificial  silk  flowers.  The  clan  fathers 
and  aunts  placed  these  flowers  on  the  graves,  while 
many  of  the  women  wept. 

We  Hidatsas  know  that  our  Indian  ways  will  soon 
perish;  but  we  feel  no  anger.  The  government  has 
given  us  a  good  reservation,  and  we  think  the  new  way 
better  for  our  children. 

I  think  God  made  all  peoples  to  help  one  another. 
We  Indians  have  helped  you  white  people.  All  over 
this  country  are  corn  fields;  we  Indians  gave  you  the 
seeds  for  your  corn,  and  we  gave  you  squashes  and 


8o  GOODBIRD  THE  INDIAN 

beans.  On  the  lakes  in  your  parks  are  canoes;  Indians 
taught  you  to  make  those  canoes. 

We  Indians  think  you  are  but  paying  us  back,  when 
you  give  us  schools  and  books,  and  teach  us  the  new 
way. 

For  myself,  my  family  and  I  own  four  thousand  acres 
of  land;  and  we  have  money  coming  to  us  from  the 
government.  I  own  cattle  and  horses.  I  can  read 
English,  and  my  children  are  in  school. 

I  have  good  friends  among  the  white  people,  Mr. 
Hall  and  others,  and  best  of  all,  I  think  each  year  I 
know  God  a  little  better. 

I  am  not  afraid. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


EDWARD  A.  STRIKER'S 
Studies    of    Immigration 

The  Broken    Wall 

Stories  of  the  Mingling  Folk.     Illus- 
trated   net  $i  .00 

"A  big  heart  and  a  sense  of  humor  go  a  long  way  toward 
making  a  good  book.  Dr.  Edward  A.  Steiner  has  both  these 
qualifications  and  a  knowledge  of  immigrant's  traits  and 
c  haracter.  "—Outlook. 

Against  the  Current 

Simple  Chapters  from  a  Complex  Life, 
lamo,  cloth,     ., net  $1.25 

"As  frank  a  bit  of  autobiography  as  has  been  published 
for  many  a  year.  The  author  has  for  a  long  time  made  a 
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strong  appeal  to  the  reader." — The  Living  Age. 

The  Immigrant   Tide — 
Its  Ebb  and  Flow 

Illustrated,   8vo,  cloth, net  $1.50 

"May  justly  be  called  an  epic  of  present  day  immigra- 
tion, and  is  a  revelation  that  should  set  our  country 
thinking." — Los  Angeles  Times. 

On  the   Trail  of  the  Immigrant 

7th  Edition.     Illustrated,   izmo,  cloth, 

net  $1.50 

"Deals  with  the  character,  temperaments,  racial  traits, 
aspirations  and  capabilities  of  the  immigrant  himself.  Can- 
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of  immigrant  problems." — Outlook. 


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A  Tale  of  the  Old  World  and  the  New. 


Illustrated,  121110,  cloth. 


.net  $1.25 


"A  graphic  story,  splendidly  told." — ROBERT  WATCHORN, 
Former  Commissioner  of  Immigration. 

Tolstoy,  the  Man  and  His  Message 

A  Biographical  Interpretation 

Revised  and  enlarged.      Illustrated,    I2mo, 

cloth net  $1.50 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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On  the  Indian  Trail,  and  Other  Stories  of  Mis- 
sionary Work  among  the  Cree  and  Saulteaux    ' 
Indians.     Illustrated  by  J.  E.  Laughlin.      i2mo, 
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